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Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arcinive 

in  2007  witii  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


littp://www.arcliive.org/details/bilateralcyplieroOOgalliala 


ELIZABETH     WELLS     GALLl 


THE 


Bi-literal  Cypher 


of 


S"  Francis  B 


rancis  Dacon 


dlfcovered  in  his  works 


AND  DECIPHERED  BY 


MRS.   ELIZABETH  WELLS   GALLUP 


THIRD     EDITION 


DETROIT.  MICHIGAN.  U.S.A.: 
HOWARD   PUBLISHING    COMPANY 

LONDON: 
CAY  6  BIRD 

33  Bedford  St. 


stacic 

Annex 


PR 
6l3b 


Copyright,  1901. 

BY  V.  KING  MOORE. 


entered  at  stationers'  hall, 
London, 

1901. 


All  rights  reserved. 


Jt  r>^  M  ^ 


CONTENTS. 
PAET  I. 

PAGE 

Personal — Mrs.  Elizabeth  Wells  Gallup 1 

Explanatory  Introduction  First  Edition 5 

Preface,  Second  Edition  15 

Argument 18 

Notes  on  the  Shakespeare  Plays 28 

Stenography  in  tS.e  time  of  Queen  Elizabeth 35 

Francis  Bacon,  Biographical   39 

Ciphers  46 

Cyphars  in  Advancement  of  Learning,  1605 49 

Cyphars  in  De  Augmentis 50 

Bi-literal  Cipher  Plan  and  Illustration 51 

Fac-simile  pages  from  De  Augmentis,  1624 55 

Fac-simile  pages  from  Novum  Organum,  1620 61 

Fac-simile  title  page  Vitae  et  Mortis 67 

Method  of  Cipher  in  Novum  Organum 73 

Publisher's  Note. . , 76 

Shakespeare  Plays — Fac-simile  Quarto  Title  Pages  85 

BI-LITERAL  CYPHER. 
DECIPHERED  SECRET  STORY.     1579  to  1590. 

Shepherd's  Calender 1579 Anonymous 79 

The  Arayg-nement  of  Paris . .  .1584 George  Peele 80 

The  Mirrour  of  Modestie 1584 Robert  Greene 82 

Planetomachia 1585 Robert  Greene 87 

A  Treatise  of  Melancholy 1586 T.  Bright 89 

Euphues-Morando 1587 Robert  Gregne 91 

Perimedes-Pandosto 1588 Robert  Greene 93 

Spanish  Masquerade 1589 Robert  Greene 94 


PAKT  II. 
DECIPHERED  SECRET  STORY  FROM 

EDMUND  SPENSER: 

FAOB 

Complaints,  1591  ,,. 1 

Colin  Clout,  1595 3 

Faerie  Queene,  1596  4 

Faerie  Queene,  second  part 7 

SHAKESPEARE  QUARTO: 

Richard  Second,  1598 10 

GEORGE  PEELE: 

David  and  Bethsabe 11 

SHAKESPEARE  QUARTOS: 

Midsommer  Night's  Dream,  1600 12 

Midsommer  Night's  Dream,  Fisher  Ed 13 

Much  Ado  About  Nothing,  1600 14 

Sir  John  Oldcastle  and  Merchant  of  Venice,  Roberts  Ed., 

1600 15 

Richard,  Duke  qf  York,  1600  18 

FRANCIS  BACON: 

Treasons  of  Essex,  1601 20 

SHAKESPEARE  QUARTO: 

London  Prodigal,  1605  23 

1 

FRANCIS  BACON: 

Advancement  of  Learning,  1605  25 

SHAKESPEARE  QUARTOS: 

King  Lear,  1608   33 

King  Henry  The  Fifth,  1608 34 

Pericles,  1609  35 

Hamlet,  1611   36 

Titus  Andronicus,  1611   38 


EDMUND  SPENSER: 

PAGE 

Shepheards  Calender,  1611 40 

Faerie  Queene,  1613  43 

BEN  JONSON: 

Plays  in  Folio,  1616 49 

SHAKESPEARE  QUARTOS: 

Richard  The  Second,  1615 72 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  1619 73 

Contention  of  York  and  Lancaster,  1619 74 

Pericles,  1619 77 

Yorkshire  Tragedy,  1619  78 

Romeo  and  Juliet,  no  date  79 

ROBERT  GREENE: 

A  Quip  For  an  Upstart  Courtier,  1620 80 

FRANCIS  BACON: 

Novum  Organum,  1620   81 

The  Parasceve  133 

Henry  The  Seventh,  1622  136 

CHRISTOPHER  MARLOWE: 

Edward  The  Second,  1622  151 

FRANCIS  BACON: 

Historia  Vitae  &  Mortis,  1623 153 

9 

SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS: 

First  Folio.  1623    165 

ROBERT  BURTON: 

Anatomy  of  Melancholy,  1628  218 

"Argument  of  the  Iliad" '. 220 

FRANCIS  BACON: 

De  Augmentis  Scientiarum,  1624  310 

"Argument  of  the  Odysses"  313 

New  Atlantis,  1635 334 

Sylva  Sylvarum,  1635,  Rawley's  Preface 339 

Natural  History   341 

William  Rawley's  Note 368 


CONCORDANT  INDEX  OF  DECIPHERED  WORK 

FRANCIS  BACON: 

Parentage— 2,  4,  17,  23,  45,  57,  78,  139,  172,  208,  312,  334, 

347,  351. 

Heir  to  Throne  of  England— 5,  10,  14,  16,  20,  28,  33,  38,  49, 

53,  66,  75,  83,  91,  100,  129,  132,  137,  141,  152,  166,  177,  190,  201, 

205,  311,  342,  350,  353. 

Story  of  Life— 28,  49,  55,  65,  83, 108,  109,  119,  121,  133,  153,  166, 

172,  181,  186,  190,  192,  200,  206,  208,  310,  343,  335. 

Remorse  over  Essex  and  self  justification — 21,  40,  47,  104, 

112,  160,  181,  211. 

Fears— 1,  3,  9,  11,  13,  27,  69,  81,  102,  129,  148,  187,  212,  343, 

346,  348. 

Hope  from  the  Ages— 13,  27,  36,  47,  49,  53,  71,  82,  116, 189,  190, 

201,  208,  312,  346,  348. 

Hope  of  Kingdom — 46. 

Kingdom  of  Science— 190,  312. 

Prayers— 42,  10^,  139,  160,  178,  186,  211,  338. 

Posterity— 16,  71,  189,  190,  201,  219,  358. 

QUEEN  ELIZABETH: 

1,  5,  10,  14,  16, 19,  22,  28,  33,  38,  41,  51,  59,  67,  69,  73,  83,  90,  108, 
111,  119,  121,  130,  137,  154,  172,  177,  179,  181,  199,  205,  210,  311, 
334,  351,  366. 

EARL  LEICESTER: 

1,  4,  16,  17,  45,  59,  69,  71,  75,  84,  140,  207,  210,  359,  363. 
Their  Marriage— 3,  16,  22,  28,  38,  46,  73,  75,  83,  90,  108,  133, 
139,  142,  154,  172,  312,  334. 

EARL  OF  ESSEX: 

14,  17,  43,  59,  62,  68,  84,  111,  134,  183,  210,  310,  353,  360. 
Essex  Rebellion— 20,  29,  38,  40,  47,  76,  172,  180,  208. 
Essex  Trial- 42,  172. 
Essex  Murther— 20,  55,  112,  151,  159,  172,  174,  178,  188. 


MARY  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS: 
61,  63,  68,  362. 
Death  Warrant  signed  by  Davison — 365. 

MARGUERITE  OF  NAVARRE: 

12,  72,  79,  118,  120,  174,  181,  203,  205,  214,  311,  336,  345. 

ROBERT  CECIL: 

10,  12,  18,  28,  172,  174,  335,  362. 

WILLIAM  RAWLEY: 
137,  340,  368. 

PRIVATE  SECRETARY  (RAWLEY): 
•  198. 

CIPHERS: 

Bi-literal— 23,  25,  37,  51,  65,  70, 102,  111,  118,  120,  126,  129,  136, 

165,  167,  189,  192,  196,  203,  215,  218,  310,  338,  357. 

Word— 38,  40,  47,  49,  52,  54.  56,  69,  75,  80,  82,  84,  101,  106,  110. 

114,  118,  143,  148,  155,  159,  161,  165,  171,  177,  181,  183,  187,  189, 

191,  194,  200,  215,  218,  312,  343,  346. 

Other  Ciphers— 21,  37,  47,  66,  118,  152,  166,  181,  191,  196,  310, 

338,  340. 

Directions— 34,  40,  47,  49,  51,  55,  57,  98,  122,  147,  151,  310,  338. 

Method  of  Construction— 53,  94,  119,  146,  187,  196,  214,  341, 

343,  356,  360. 

Iterant  Rules— 52,  215,  349,  352.  • 

Bi-literal  made  difficult— 66,  67,  82,  101,  136,  196. 

MASQUES  USED: 

Edmund   Spenser— 4,   10,  27,  53,   81,  85,  111,   168,  180,  198, 

204,  3n. 

William  Shakespeare— 3,  39,  54,  56,  63.  70.  93.  101,  111,  115, 

157,  158,  166,  181,  198,  200,  204,  348. 

Christopher  Marlowe— 3,  10,  26,  53,  93,  111,  166,  180,  181,  198, 

200,  204,  349. 

Robert  Greene— 3,  10,  26,  53,  111,  166,  180,  181,  198,  200,  204, 

311,  349. 

George  Peele— 3,  10,  26,  53,  93,  111,  152,  166,  180,  181,  198,  200, 

204,  214,  311,  349. 

Robert  Burton— 10,  111,  ]14.  152,  198,  200,  204. 

Ben  Jonson— 26,  54,  59,  68,  111. 


PARTIES  KNOWING  OF  THE  HIDDEN  WORK: 

76. 

CIPHER  WRITINGS: 
165,  166,  202. 

HIDDEN  PLAYS: 

23,  59,  90,  97,  103,  117,  125,  151,  180,  189,  194,  213,  352,  360,  367. 

HIDDEN  POEMS: 

36,  95,  118,  165,  175,  202,  345. 

NEW  ATLANTIS  COMPLETED  IN  CIPHER: 
47,  130,  165,  359. 

SPANISH  ARMADA  IN  CIPHER: 
63,  184,  199. 

ARGUMENTS  OF  THE  HIDDEN  PLAYS: 
5,  60,  85,  92. 

TRANSLATIONS: 

34,  36,  49,  53,  57,  114,  151,  165,  166,  167,  169,  170,  171,  173,  180. 
202,  204,  214,  216,  218,  219,  341,  345,  352,  360. 
Iliad— 220. 
Odysaey— 313. 


ORIGINAL.   EDITIONS    OP   WORKS    USED    IN    DECIPHERING. 
CHRONOLOGICALLY  ARRANGED. 


EDMUND  SPENSER: 

Complaints,  1590-1591 Dodd,  Mead  &  Co. 

Colin  Clout,  1595 Dodd,  Mead  &  Co. 

The  Faerie  Queene,  1596 Dodd,  Mead  &  Co.  and  Harvard 

Library. 

The  Shepherd's  Calendar,  1611 Howard  Publishing  Co. 

The  Faerie  Queene,  1613 Howard  Publishing  Co. 


ROBERT  GREENE: 

A  Quip  for  an  Upstart  Courtier, 
1620 Marshall  C.  Lefferts,  New  York. 


GEORGE  PEELE: 

David  and  Bathsabe,  1599 Boston  Public  Library. 

•  » 

CHRISTOPHER  MARLOWE: 

Edward  II.,  1622 Howard  Publishing  Co. 

BEN  JONSON: 

Entertainment,  1616 Mrs.  C.  M.  Pott,  London,  Eng. 

King's  Coronation,  1616 Mrs.  C.  M.  Pott,  London,  Eng. 

A  Panegyre,  1616 Mrs.  C.  M.  Pott,  London,  Eng. 

The  Masques,  1616 Mrs.  C.  M.  Pott,  London,  Eng. 

Sejanus,  1616 Mrs.  C.  M.  Pott,  London,  Eng. 

Plays,  in  Folio,  1616. 
(Perfect  copy.) Marshall  C.  Lefferts,  New  York. 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE: 

Richard  II.,  1598 Boston  Public  Library. 

Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  Rob- 
erts Ed.,  1600 Lenox  Library,  New  York. 

^       Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  Fish- 
er Ed.,  1600 Boston  Public  Library. 

Much  Ado  About  Nothing,  1600.... Boston  Public  Library. 

Sir  John  Oldcastle,  1600 Boston  and  Lenox  Libraries. 

Merchant   of    Venice,    J.    Roberts 
Ed..  1600 Boston  Public  Library. 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE: 

Richard    Duke    of    York     (Third 

Henry  VI.),  1600 Boston  Public  Library. 

A  London  Prodigal,  1605 Lenox  Library. 

King  Lear,  1608 Boston  Public  Library. 

Henry  V.,  1608 Boston  Public  Library. 

Pericles,    1609 Boston  Public  Library. 

Hamlet,  1611 Boston  Public  Library. 

Titus  Andronicus,  1611 Boston  Public  Library. 

Richard  II.,  1615 Boston  Public  Library. 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  1619 Boston  Public  Library. 

The    Whole    Contention     of     the 

Houses  of  York  and  Lancaster, 

(Second  Henry  VI.),  1619 Boston  and  Lenox  Libraries. 

Pericles,    1619 Boston  and  Lenox  Libraries. 

A  Yorkshire  Tragedy,  1619 Boston  and  Lenox  Libraries. 

Romeo  and  Juliet,  (No  date) Boston  Public  Library. 

Plays  in  Folio,  1623 Howard     Publishing     Co.      and 

Boston  and  Lenox  Libraries. 

FRANCIS  BACON:* 

A  Declaration  of  the  Treasons  of 

Essex,  1601 John  Dane,  M.  D.,  Boston,  Mass., 

and  Boston  Library. 

Advancement  of  Learning,  1605 Howard  Publishing  Co. 

Novum  Organum,  1620 Howard  Publishing  Co. 

The  Parasceve,  1620 Howard  Publishing  Co. 

History  of  Henry  VII.,  1622 Howard  Publishing  Co. 

Vitae  et  Mortis,  1623 John  Dane,  M.  D.,  Boston,  Mass. 

De  Augmentis  Scientiarum,  1624... Mrs.  C.  M.  Pott,  London,  Eng. 

New  Atlantis,  1635 Howard  Publishing  Co. 

Sylva  Sylvarum,  1635 Howard  Publishing  Co. 

ROBERT  BURTON: 

The  Anatomy  of  Melancholy,  1628..  Ho  ward  Publishing  Co. 


PART  I. 


The  human  understanding,  when  it  has  once  adopted 
an  opinion  (either  as  being  the  received  opinion,  or  as 
being  agreeable  to  itself),  draws  all  things  else  to  sup- 
port and  agree  with  it.  And  though  there  be  a  greater 
number  and  weight  of  instances  to  be  found  on  the  other 
side,  yet  these  he  neglects  and  despises,  or  else  by  some 
distinction  sets  aside  and  rejects,  in  order  that  by  this 
great  and  pernicious  predetermination  the  authority  of  its 
former  conclusions  may  be  inviolate. 

NOVUM  ORGANUM. 


For  as  Soloman  saith:  He  that  cometh  to  seek  after 
knowledge,  with  a  mind  to  scorn  and  censure,  shall  be 
sure  to  find  matter  for  his  humor,  but  no  matter  for  his 
instruction. 

ADV.   OP  LEARNING. 


We  have  set  it  down  as  a  law  to  ourselves  to  examine 
things  to  the  bottom,  and  not  to  receive  upon  credit,  or 
reject  upon  improbabilities,  until  there  have  been  passed 
a  due  examination. 

NATURAL.  HISTORY. 


In  which  sort  of  things  it  is  the  manner  of  men,  first 
to  wonder  that  such  thing  should  be  possible,  and  after 
It  is  found  out,  to  wonder  again  how  the  world  should  miss 
it  so  long. 

VALERIUS   TERMINUS. 


PERSONAL. 


TO    THE    READER: 


The  discovery  of  the  existence  of  the  Bi-literal  Cipher 
of  Francis  Bacon,  found  embodied  in  his  works,  and  the 
deciphering  of  what  it  tells,  has  been  a  work  arduous,  ex- 
hausting and  prolonged.  It  is  not  ended,  but  the  results 
of  the  work  so  far  brought  forth,  are  submitted  for  study 
and  discussion,  and  open  a  new  and  large  field  of  investi- 
gation and  research,  which  cannot  faij  to  interest  all  stu- 
dents of  the  earlier  literature  that  has  come  down  to  us  as 
a  mirror  of  the  past,  and  in  many  respects  has  been  adopted 
as  models  for  the  present. 

Seeking  for  things  hidden,  the  mysterious,  elusive  and 
unexpected,  has  a  fascination  for  many  minds,  as  it  has 
for  my  own,  and  this  often  prompts  to  greater  effort  than 
more  manifest  and  material  things  would  command.  To 
this  may  be  attributed,  perhaps,  the  triumph  over  diffi- 
culties which  have  seemed  to  me,  at  times,  insurmoimtable, 
the  solution  of  problems,  and  the  following  of  ways  tor- 
taous  and  obscure,  which  have  been  necessary  to  bring  out, 
as  they  appear  in  the  following  pages,  the  hidden  mes- 
sp.ges  which  Francis  Bacon  so  securely  buried  in  his  writ- 
ings, that  three  hundred  years  of  reading  and  close  study 
Have  not  until  now  uncovered  them. 

This  Bi-literal  Cipher  is  found  in  the  Italic  letters  that 
appear  in  such  unusual  and  unexplained  prodigality  in  the 
original  editions  of  Bacon's  works.  Students  of  these  old 
editions  have  been  impressed  with  the  ''-xtraordinary  num- 
ber of  words  and  passages,  often  non-important,  printed  in 
Italics,  where  no  known  rule  of  construction  would  require 
their  use.  There  has  been  no  reasonable  explanation  of 
this  until  now  it  is  found  that  they  were  so  used  for  the 


2  PERSONAL. 

purposes  of  this  Cipher.  These  letters  are  seen  to  be  in 
two  forms — two  fonts  of  type — with  marked  differences. 
In  the  Capitals  these  are  easily  discerned,  but  the  distin- 
guishing features  in  the  small  letters,  from  age  of  the 
books,  blots  and  poor  printing,  have  been  more  difficult  to 
classify,  and  close  examination  and  study  have  been  re- 
(piired  to  separate  and  sketch  out  the  variations,  and  edu- 
cate the  eye  to  distinguish  them. 

How  I  found  the  Cipher,  its  difficulties,  methods  of 
working,  and  outline  of  what  the  several  books  contain, 
will  more  fully  appear  in  the  explanatory  introduction. 

In  assisting  Dr.  Owen  in  the  preparation  of  the  later 
books  of  "Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Cipher  Story,"  recently  pub- 
lished, and  in  the  study  of  the  great  "Word-Cipher  discov- 
eied  by  him,  in  which  is  incorporated  Bacon's  more  exten- 
sive, more  complete  and  important  writings,  I  became  con- 
vinced that  the  very  full  explanation  found  in  De  Aug- 
mcntis,  of  the  bi-literal  method  of  cipher-writing,  was 
something  more  than  a  mere  treatise  on  the  subject.  I 
applied  the  rules  given  to  the  peculiarly  Italicised  words 
and  "letters  in  two  forms,"  as  they  appear  in  the  photo- 
graphic Fac-simile  of  the  original  1623,  Folio  edition,  of 
the  Shakespeare  Plays.  The  disclosures,  as  they  appear  in 
this  volume,  were  as  great  a  surprise  to  me,  as  they  will 
be  to  my  readers.  Original  editions  of  Bacon's  known 
works  were  then  procured,  as  well  as  those  of  other  authors 
named  in  these,  and  claimed  by  Bacon  as  his  own.  The 
story  deciphered  from  these  will  also  appear  under  the  sev- 
eral headings. 

From  the  disclosures  found  in  all  these,  it  is  evident 
that  Bacon  expected  this  Bi-literal  Cipher  would  be  the  first 
to  be  discovered,  and  that  it  would  lead  to  the  discovery 
of  his  principal,  or  Word-Cipher,  which  it  fully  explains, 
and  to  which  is  intrusted  the  larger  subjects  he  desired  to 
have  preserved.  This  order  has  been  reversed,  in  fact,  and 
the  earlier  discovery  of  the  Word-Cipher,  by  Dr.  Owen, 
becomes  a  more  remarkable  achievement,  being  entirely 


PERSONAL.  3 

evolved  without  the  aids  which  Bacon  had  prepared  in  this, 
for  its  elucidation. 

The  proofs  are  overwhelming  and  irresistible  that  Bacon 
was  the  author  of  the  delightful  lines  attributed  to  Spen- 
ser,— the  fantastic  conceits  of  Peele  and  Greene, — the  his- 
torical romances  of  Marlowe, — the  immortal  plays  and 
poems  put  forth  in  Shakespeare's  name,  as  well  as  the 
Anatomy  of  Melancholy  of  Burton. 

The  removal  of  these  masques,  behind  which  Bacon 
concealed  himself,  may  change  the  names  of  some  of  our 
idols.  It  is,  however,  the  matter  and  not  the  name  that 
appeals  to  our  intelligence. 

The  plays  of  Shakespeare  lose  nothing  of  their  dramatic 
power  or  wondrous  beauty,  nor  deserve  the  less  admiration 
of  the  scholar  and  critic,  because  inconsistencies  are  re- 
moved in  the  knowledge  that  they  came  from  the  brain  of 
the  greatest  student  and  writer  of  that  age,  and  were  not 
a  "flash  of  genius"  descended  upon  one  of  peasant  birth, 
less  noble  history,  and  of  no  preparatory  literary  attain- 
ments.    ^ 

The  Shepherds'  Calendar  is  not  less  sweetly  poetical, 
because  Francis  Bacon  appropriated  the  name  of  Spenser, 
several  years  after  his  death,  under  which  to  put  forth  the 
musical  measures,  that  had,  up  to  that  time,  only  appeared 
as  the  production  of  some  Muse  without  a  name;  nor  will 
Faerie  Queene  lose  ought  of  its  rythmic  beauty  or  romantic 
interest  from  change  of  name  upon  the  title  page. 

The  supposed  writings  of  Peele,  Greene  and  Marlowe 
are  not  the  less  worthy,  because  really  written  by  one 
greater  than  either. 

The  remarkable  similarity  in  the  dramatic  writings  at- 
tributed to  Greene,  Peele,  Marlowe  and  Shakespeare  has 
attracted  much  attention,  and  the  biographers  of  each  have 
claimed  that  both  style  and  subject-matter  have  been  imi- 
tated, if  not  appropriated,  by  the  others.  The  practical 
explanation  lies  in  the  fact  that  one  hand  wrote  them  all. 


4  PERSONAL. 

I  fully  appreciate  what  it  means  to  bring  forth  new 
truth  from  imexpected  and  unknown  fields,  if  not  in  ac- 
cord with  accented  theories  and  long  held  beliefs,  "For 
what  a  man  had  rather  were  true,  he  more  readily  be- 
lieves,"— is  one  of  Bacon's  truisms  that  finds  many  illus- 
trations. 

I  appreciate  what  it  means  to  ask  strong  minds  to  change 
long  standing  literary  convictions,  and  of  such  I  venture 
to  ask  the  withholding  of  judgment  until  study  shall  have 
made  the  new  matter  familiar,  with  the  assurance  mean- 
while, upon  my  part,  of  the  absolute  veracity  of  the  work 
which  is  here  presented.  Any  one  possessing  the  original 
books,  who  has  sufficient  patience  and  a  keen  eye  for  form, 
can  work  out  and  verify  the  Cipher  from  the  illustrations 
given.  I^Tothing  is  left  to  choice,  chance,  or  the  imagina- 
tion. The  statements  which  are  disclosed  are  such  as  could 
not  be  foreseen,  nor  imagined,  nor  created,  nor  can  there  be 
found  reasonable  excuse  for  the  hidden  writings,  except  for 
the  purposes  narrated,  which  could  only  exist  concerning, 
and  be  described  by,  Francis  Bacon. 

I  would  beg  that  the  readers  of  this  book  wil?  bring  to 
the  consideration  of  the  work  minds  free  from  prejudice, 
judging  of  it  with  the  same  intelligence  and  impartiality 
they  would  themselves  desire,  if  the  presentation  were  their 
own.  Otherwise  the  work  will,  indeed,  have  been  a  thank- 
less task. 

To  doubt  the  ultimate  acceptance  of  the  truths  brought 
to  light  would  be  to  distrust  that  destiny  in  which  Bacon 
had  such  an  abiding  faith  for  his  justification,  and  which, 
in  fact,  after  three  centuries,  has  lifted  the  veil,  and 
brought  us  to  estimate  the  character  and  accomplishments, 
trials  and  sorrows  of  that  great  genius,  with  a  feeling  of 
nearness  and  personal  sympathy,  far  greater  than  has  been 
possible  from  the  partial  knowledge  which  we  have  here- 
tofore enjoyed. 

ELIZABETH  WELLS  GALLUP. 
Detroit,  March  1st,  1899. 


EXPLANATORY  IXTRODUCTION^. 

(FIRST  EDITION.) 

The  most  important  literary  discovery  of  the  day  is 
that  the  well  kno^vn  Bi-literal  Cipher  of  Francis  Bacon 
runs  through  a  considerable  number  of  the  original  editions 
of  the  books  of  the  Elizabethan  era.  The  present  vol- 
niade  by  Mrs.  Elizabeth  AVells  Gallup.  The  present  vol- 
ume is  the  result  of  nearly  three  years  spent  in  examining 
and  translating  from  these  old  books  the  hidden  stories 
which  they  contain — stories  startling  and  marvelous,  which 
serve  to  illumine  much  that  has  been  mysterious  and  unex- 
plainable  concerning  a  most  interesting  period  marked  by 
scientific  progress  and  prolific  in  literature  of  a  high  order. 
It  was  an  age  of  intrigue  and  secret  communication,  and 
cipher  writing  was  a  necessary  branch  of  education  to  those 
in  public  life.  To  Francis  Bacon  it  became  an  absorbing 
passion  throughout  his  life,  as  may  be  judged  from  the 
voluminous  and  important  matter  now  found  to  be  infolded 
in  his  writings  and  which  has,  until  now,  escaped  attention. 
In  his  work  published  in  1605,  "Of  the  Advancement  of 
Learning,"  he  makes  a  topic  of  Ciphers,  as  a  branch  of 
educational  progress,  and  hints  at,  but  does  not  explain, 
the  bi-literal  method  of  Cipher-writing,  while  he  was  at 
the  same  time  infolding,  in  the  Italic  letters  of  the  book 
itself  portions  of  his  own  secret  history,  and  facts  concern- 
ing the  rebellion  of  Essex,  in  the  manner  in  which  he 
asserts  such  messages  might  be  hidden. 

He  continued  to  write  Ciphers  into  his  various  works, 
published  from  time  to  time,  until  1623,  when,  none 
having  discovered  the  secret,  the  very  success  of  the  system 
seeming  likely  to  defeat  its  object,  and  when  all  personal 


6  INTRODUCTION. 

danger  from  a  premature  exposure  of  what  he  had  written 
was  past,  he  published  in  the  Latin  version  of  "De  Aug- 
mentis  Scientiarum"  a  clear  and  minute  description  and 
illustration  of  this  Cipher,  hoping  that  it  would  be  under- 
stood, and  fearing  that  nothing  less  would  lead  to  its  dis- 
covery and  translation. 

The  occasion  for  writing  in  cipher  has  been  made  appar- 
ent as  the  decipherings  have  progressed,  for  it  became  the 
means  of  conveying  to  a  future  time  the  truth  which  was 
being  concealed  from  the  world  concerning  himself,  his 
royal  birth — his  right  to  be  King  of  England — secrets  of 
State  regarding  Queen  Elizabeth — his  mother — and  other 
prominent  characters  of  that  day — the  correction  of  Eng- 
lish history  in  important  particulars,  and  the  exposure  of 
the  wrongs  that  had  been  put  upon  him.  \ 

Added  to  this,  and  most  important  of  all  to  the  ambi- 
tions of  his  latter  days,  was  the  hope  of  thus  bringing  to 
the  knowledge  of  the  world  the  greater  field  of  literature 
which  he  had  occupied,  imknown  at  that  time,  and  unsus- 
pected until  recently,  as  the  author  of  many  books  which 
had  been  accredited  to  other  names,  and  thereby  secure  in 
the  world  of  letters  the  wider  fame  and  glory  which  he 
craved,  and  which  was  his  just  due. 

The  names,  other  than  his  own,  under  which  Bacon 
published  the  brilliant  literature  of  that  era,  were  Christo- 
pher Marlowe,  George  Peele,  Robert  Greene,  Edmund 
Spenser,  William  Shakespeare,  and  Robert  Burton.  The 
Ciphers  (more  than  one)  are  found  in  all  these.  The  Bi- 
literal  Cipher  runs  through  the  works  of  Ben  Jonson  and 
five  of  the  shorter  parts  are  from  Bacon's  pen.  Shepherds' 
Calendar  was  first  published  in  1579,  nor  was  it  till  1611, 
twelve  years  after  Spenser's  death,  that  it  was  published 
with  Eaerie  Queene  and  attributed  to  Spenser. 

That  Erancis  Bacon  wrote  the  Shakespeare  Plays,  and 
the  existence  of  Ciphers  in  them,  has  long  been  suspected, 
and  much  time  and  study  devoted  to  arguing, pro  and  con, 


INTRODUCTION.  7 

the  several  phases  and  probabilities  of  the  question.  The 
same  questions  had  not  been  raised,  nor  suggestion  of  other 
authorship  than  appears  upon  the  title  pages,  regarding  the 
others,  until  the  discovery  by  Dr.  O.  W.  Owen  of  the  prin- 
cipal, or  Word-Cipher,  in  the  works  of  all  of  them,  portions 
of  which  have  already  been  published  as  "Sir  Francis 
Bacon's  Cipher  Story."  The  translation  of  this  bi-literal 
Cipher  in  the  following  pages,  with  its  directions  as  to  how 
the  Word-Cipher  is  to  be  constructed,  the  keys  to  the 
different  stories  to  be  written,  the  guides  as  to  where  to 
find  the  matter  pertaining  to  them,  fully  confi^rms  what  had 
already  been  found  by  Dr.  Owen,  and  removes  all  possible 
doubt  as  to  Bacon's  authorship. 

In  the  present  volume  is  presented  that  part  of  the  hid- 
den ^vritings  which  the  bi-literal  Cipher  reveals  in  the  fol- 
lowing works: — ^Francis  Bacon's  Of  the  Advancement  of 
Learning,  .(1605),— King  Henry  Seventh,  (1622),— De 
Augmentis  Scientiarum,  (1624)  Sylva-Sylvarum  and  'New 
Atlantis,  (pubKshed  by  Eawley,  1635), — Spenser's  Shep- 
herds' Calendar  and  short  poems,  (1611), — ^Faerie  Queene, 
(1613), — Jonson's  Sejanus,  and  Masques,  (1616), — Mar- 
lowe's Edward  Second,  (1622), — ^the  Shakespeare  Plays, 
(Folio  1623),— Burton's  Anatomy  of  Melancholy,  (1628). 

In  all  of  these  are  fragments  of  Bacon's  personal  history, 
the  statement  that  Elizabeth  was  the  lawful  wife  of  the 
Earl  of  Leicester  by  a  secret  marriage,  before  becoming 
Queen;  that  the  issue  of  this  marriage  was  two  sons, — ^Fran- 
cis Bacon,  so-called,  and  Eobert  Devereux,  afterward  Earl 
of  Essex;  that  Francis  was  at  birth  received  by  Mistress 
Ann  Bacon  and  was  reared  and  educated  as  the  son  of 
Nicholas  Bacon.  It  appears  that  at  about  the  age  of  six- 
teen Francis  discovered  the  facts  of  his  nativity  through 
the  gossip  of  a  Court  lady,  and  in  a  fit  of  anger  the  Queen 
acknowledged  to  him  her  motherhood  and  his  son-ship,  and 
that  he  was  immediately  thereafter  sent  to  France,  and 
subsequent  action  was  taken  by  which  he  was  barred  from 


8  INTRODUCTION.  i 

the  succession  to  the  throne.  In  several  of  the  books, 
though  more  notably  in  the  Shakespeare  Plays,  are  explana- 
tions of  the  "great  Word-Cipher  which  shows  all,"  with 
keys  to  the  different  stories,  their  titles  and  directions  for 
deciphering  them. 

In  the  Shakespeare  Plays,  the  chief  dramatic  work  of 
Bacon,  is  found  the  most  important  of  the  secret  writings 
committed  to  the  Ciphers.  Here,  iu.  exttnso,  are  the  prin- 
cipal directions  and  manner  of  writing  the  Word-Cipher, 
the  keys  and  guides,  the  different  works  to  be  used  and  the 
names  under  which  they  appear,  the  titles  of  the  hidden 
stories  to  be  written  out,  and  where  the  matter  of  which 
they  are  to  be  constructed  may  be  found.  Much  space  is 
devoted  to  the  secret  personal  history  of  ^himself  and  his 
brother,  Robert,  which  the  Queen  saw  fit  to  have  concealed 
from  general  knowledge. 

His  references  to  the  trial  and  execution  of  Essex  and 
the  part  he  was  forced  to  take  in  his  prosecution,  are  the 
subject  of  a  continual  wail  of  unhappiness  and  ever-present 
remorse,  with  hopes  and  prayers  that  the  truth  hidden  in 
the  Cipher  may  be  found  out,  and  published  to  the  world 
in  his  justification.  "0  God!  forgiveness  cometh  from 
Thee;  shut  not  this  truest  book,  my  God!  Shut  out  my 
past, — love's  little  sunny  hour, — if  it  soe  please  Thee,  and 
some  of  man's  worthy  work,  yet  Essex's  tragedy  here  shew 
forth;  then  posterity  shall  know  him  truly." 

The  various  Introductions,  Dedications,  the  Catalogue 
of  Plays  and  Characters,  the  Prologues,  the  headings  of 
the  different  Comedies,  Histories  and  Tragedies  (in  the 
or'der  named),  comprising  a  series  of  short  passages,  giving, 
general  directions  for  the  work,  are  complete  in  themselves, 
and  at  the  end  of  each  division  occurs  seme  one  of  the  sig- 
natures by  which  Bacon  was  known,  as  if  to  authenticate 
what  had  been  written. 

The  more  connected  narrative  is  in  the  Plays,  combined 
in  the  order  as  given  (in  cipher)  in  the  ISTatural  History, 
and  in  the  Plays  themselves  as  the  deciphering  advanced. 


INTRODUCTION.  9 

In  this  order  the  plays  are  linked  together  in  the  most 
unmistakable  manner,  parts  of  words  and  sentences  unfin- 
ished at  the  end  of  one  finding  completion  or  continuance 
in  the  next.  Four  breaks  or  omissions  occur,  however, 
from  inability  thus  far  to  gain  access  to  the  original  edi- 
tions of  the  books  required,  and  from  the  fact  that  the 
modern  editions  do  not  contain  this  Bi-literal,  though  the 
Word-Cipher  is  easily  traced  in  them.  The  first  missing 
link  is  Peele's  Old  Wives'  Tale,  which  should  precede 
Twelfth  ^ight.  Its  absence  cg-uses  the  latter  to  begin 
abruptly,  showing  the  omission  of  something  which  should 
precede  it  in  the  deciphering.  The  second  omission  is  the 
Pinner  of  Wakefield,  published  as  Greene's  work,  which 
should  precede  the  Merchant  of  Venice.  The  third  omis- 
sion is  the  Jew  of  Malta,  of  Marlowe,  which  should  precede 
the  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor.  The  fourth  missing  link  is 
at  the  end  of  Much  Ado  About  Nothing,  which  closes  with 
an  incomplete  sentence,  the  remainder  of  which  will  be 
found  in  the  Tale  of  Troy.  Hiren  the  Faire  Greek  (sup- 
posed to  be  a  lost  play)  should  follow  this  and  precede  Win- 
ter's Tale,  which  last  begins  with  a  continuation  of  some- 
thing to  be  found  in  the  missing  work.  The  absence  of 
these  books  is  not  material,  however,  as  the  substance  of 
the  Bi-literal  story  is  so  often  repeated  in  the  other  works, 
they  are  not  necessary  to  an  understanding  of  the  whole. 

On  another  page  is  copied  from  De  Augmentis,  as  nearly 
as  may  be  with  modern  type,  the  illustration  of  the  method 
of  infolding  cipher  writings  by  means  of  'letters  in  two 
forms,"  the  letters  infolding  being  (luintuple  those  in- 
folded. This  plan  was  applied  to  the  Italic  letters,  in  the 
books  mentioned,  with  results  which  have  been  most  sur- 
prising in  the  variety  and  interest  of  the  deciphered  work. 
The  rule  is  simple  and  easily  comprehended,  but  many 
stumbling  blocks  occur  in  the  books,  placed  there  with  the 
evident  purpose  of  making  the  deciphering  more  difficult, 
which  bring  confusion  to  the  work  until  removed.     Each 


10  INTRODUCTION. 

book  has  its  own  peculiarities — different  letters— and  forms 
a  separate  study.  The  first  page  of  Henry  VII.,  as  it 
herein  appears,  will  explain  some  peculiarities,  the  changes 
in  the  readings  of  the  same  forms  of  letters,  the  meaning 
of  the  dots  and  other  unusual  markings,  which  close  .stu- 
dents of  the  old  books  have  noted.  Occasionally  will  be 
found  a  Roman  letter  in  an  Italic  word;  this  has  to  be  dis- 
regarded. JSTot  infrequently  Italic  letters  occur  in  a  word, 
the  remainder  of  which  is  in  Roman;  these  must  be  used. 
There  are  occasional  words  in  Roman  type  between  words 
in  Italic  that  have  to  be  used  to  form  the  groups  necessary 
to  complete  a  Cipher  word.  In  the  illustration  given  in 
the  original  De  Augmentis,  one  of  the  Latin  words  ends 
with  a  wrong  termination,  making  one  too  many  letters  for 
the  group,  and  must  be  omitted.  The  error  is  corrected  in 
the  English  translation  of  1640  and  in  subsequent  editions. 
One  of  the  most  puzzling  of  the  many  strange  things 
that  have  been  observed  but  not  explained  has  been  the 
duplication  and  misplaced  paging  in  the  originals.  These 
occur  in  nearly  all  the  books  that  have  been  deciphered. 
There  are  several  in  the  Folio  Shakespeare  Plays,  and  they 
are  still  more  prominent  in  some  of  the  other  works.  A 
list  is  appended,  vnth.  explanation  of  the  pages  which  are  to 
be  joined  together  in  the  deciphering.  They  bring  the 
work  into  instant  confusion,  until  the  proper  duplicate  page 
is  found  and  the  two  joined  together  in  the  order  of  pre- 
cedence in  which  they  occur,  until  all  of  that  number  are 
deciphered,  after  which  the  consecutive  pages  continue  the 
story  until  some  other  break  occurs,  which  has  in  turn  to 
be  properly  solved.  Sometimes  three,  and  in  Advance- 
ment  of  Learning  four  misplaced  pages  are  found  of  the 
same  number  in  the  same  book. 

To  illustrate  more  fully:  the  first  WTong  paging  in  the 
Folio  Shakespeare  occurs  in  Merry  "Wives  of  Windsor. 
After  page  49  are  58-51.     In  the  consecutive  order  there- 


INTRODUCTION.  11 

after,  and  following  58,  is  another  51.  In  deciphering,  the 
first  58  must  be  omitted  until  the  first  51  is  deciphered; 
this  must  be  followed  by  the  second  51,  then  the  regular 
order* resumed.  When  page  57  has  been  deciphered,  it 
must  be  followed  hj  the  first  58,  and  this  by  the  second 
58.  There  is  no  50  or  59  in  this  division.  In  Comedy  of 
Errors,  page  85  is  followed  by  page  88,  then  87,  then  88 
again.  In  deciphering,  page  85  must  be  followed  by  87, 
this  by  the  first  88,  and  this  by  the  second  88.  There  is 
no  86. 

In  Tempest,  as  deciphered,  this  direction  occurs: — 
'^ow  join  King  Lear,  King  John,  Eomeo  &  Juliet — " 
etc.  In  the  closing  lines  of  King  John,  this: — "Join 
Romeo  with  Troy's  famous  Oressida  if  you  wish  to  know 
my  story.  Cressida  in  this  play  with  Juliet,  b — "  which 
ends  the  Cipher  in  King  John,  with  an  incomplete  word. 
Turning  to  Eomeo  and  Juliet  (page  53)  the  remainder  of 
the  word,  and  the  broken  sentence  is  continued,  being  a 
part  of  the  description  of  Marguerite,  and  the  love  Francis 
entertained  for  her. 

The  deciphering  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  proceeded  with- 
out interruption  until  page  76  was  finished.  The  next 
page  is  79,  but  an  attempt  to  go  forward  with  it  brought 
confusion,  the  subject-matter  not  joining  or  relating  to  the 
preceding  subject.  After  much  speculation  and  study,  it 
was  recalled  that  Troilus  and  Cressida  was  to  follow,  and 
that  the  first  page  of  that  play  was  78.  A  trial  of  this 
page  brought  out  the  letter  and  words  which  connected 
with  those  on  page  76  of  Romeo  and  Juliet.  At  the  end 
of  79,  of  Troilus  and  Cressida,  again  came  confusion,  but 
by  joining  Romeo  and  Juliet,  79,  to  this,  and  following  by 
page  80  of  Troilus  and  Cressida,  the  narration  was  con- 
tinued in  proper  order.  There  is  no  page  77  in  Romeo 
and  Juliet,  or  in  this  division  of  the  book. 

Had  the  Cipher  been  less  arbitrary,  or  subject  to  varia- 
tion, or  the  story  the  invention  of  the  decipherer,  less  time 


13  INTRODUCTION. 

and  study  would  have  been  spent  in  finding  joining  parts^ 
and  nothing  would  have  been  known  of  the  reasons  for 
wrong  paging. 

Some  Keys  relating  to  other  Cipher  work  not  yet  deci- 
phered are  omitted. 

Spelling  was  not  an  exact  science  in  any  of  the  works 
of  Bacon  and  if  the  old  English  is  thought  to  be  unique,  it 
must  be  attributed  to  the  unsettled  orthography  if  the  six- 
teenth century.  Many  abbreviations  occur,  marked  by  the 
"tilda^^  in  the  old  English,  but  which  are  not  used  in  mod- 
ern type.  In  the  deciphered  works  the  same  diversity 
exists  as  in  the  originals,  the  exact  text  being  followed  letter 
by  letter.  Proper  names,  even,  are  not  always  spelled 
alike.  There  was  marked  progress,  however,  in  the  period 
between  the  production  of  Bacon's  first  works  and  the  last. 
To  Bacon,  in  greater  degree  than  to  any  other,  has  been 
accredited  the  enriching  of  the  English  language  with  new 
words,  but  the  spelling  and  expression  of  them  have  been 
three  centuries  in  crystalizing  into  the  simplicity  and  uni- 
formity of  the  present  schools. 

The  Natural  History,  and  I^ew  Atlantis,  was  published 
some  years  after  Bacon's  death,  by  Dr.  Rawley,  the  private 
secretary  of  whom  Bacon  speaks.  In  the  Introduction  and 
table  of  contents,  Rawley  tells  (in  Cipher)  the  circum- 
stances of  its  preparation.  In  the  decyphering,  the  body 
of  the  book  was  first  worked  out.  In  the  Eighth  Century 
there  came  confusion  of  letters  and  it  required  considerable 
study  to  find  that  the  fonts  of  type  had  been  changed  in 
some  of  the  letters,  i.  e.,  what  had  been  used  as  the  V 
font  was  changed  to  the  "b"  font,  either  by  mistake,  or  for 
purposes  of  confusion.  After  the  main  part  of  the  book 
had  been  finished,  the  Introduction  by  Rawley  and  table  of 
contents  were  deciphered,  and  this  brought  out  that  from 
the  Eighth  Century  Rawley  had  completed  the  work,— 


INTRODUCTION.  18 

*'yet  I  have  stiimblinoly  proceeded  with  it  and  unwittingly- 
used  some  letters  wrongly,  as  B — I — L — M — ]!i — ^P — S — 
and  Z."  He  also  refers  to  his  finishing  Burton's  Anatomy, 
(1628)  the  edition  used  in  this  volume. 

The  reference  to  the  signing  of  the  death  warrant  of 
Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  by  the  Secretary,  Davison,  instead 
of  by  Elizabeth,  and  unknown  to  her,  confirms  what  the 
most  recent  historians  have  noted,  and  explains  some  in- 
consistencies in  the  earlier  accounts  of  Elizabeth's  action. 

Perhaps  the  most  remarkable  results,  and  certainly  the 
most  unexpected,  and  greatest  surprise,  came  from  deci- 
phering De  Augmentis,  and  Burton's  Anatomy  of  Melan- 
choly. The  history  of  the  Anatomy  is  peculiar.  It 
appears  in  the  Catalogue  of  the  British  Museum  under  the 
assumed  name  of  T.  Bright,  in  the  year  1586,  or  when 
Burton  was  only  about  ten  years  old.  Greatly  enlarged, 
it  appears  in  1621,  and  again  in  1624,  and  again  in  1628, 
and  at  two  later  dates,  under  the  name  of  Robert  Burton,  a 
person  of  whom  little  is  known,  except  as  the  supposed 
author  of  this  work  alone,  and  as  a  living  example  of  the 
melancholy  which  it  so  felicitously  describes.  The  Cipher 
mentions  both  Bright  and  Burton  as  names  under  which 
Bacon  wrote  the  book,  and  also  that  the  different  editions 
contain  a  different  Cipher  story. 

The  extraordinary  part  is  that  this  edition  conceals,  in 
Cipher,  a  very  full  and  extended  prose  summary — argu- 
ment, Bacon  calls  it — of  a  translation  of  Homer's  Iliad. 
In  order  that  there  may  be  no  mistake  as  to  its  being 
Bacon's  work,  he  precedes  the  translation  with  a  brief  ref- 
erence to  his  royal  birth  and  the  wrongs  he  has  suffered 
from  being  excluded  from  the  throne.  The  Cipher  also 
tells  that  in  the  marginal  notes,  which  are  used  in  large 
numbers  in  the  book,  may  be  found  the  argument  to  a 
translation  of  the  ^neid,  but  this  has  not  been  deciphered. 


14  INTRODUCTION. 

In  De  Augmentis  is  found  a  similar  extended  synopsis, 
or  argument,  of  a  translation  of  the  Odyssey.  This,  too, 
is  introduced  with  a  reference  to  Bacon's  personal  history, 
and  although  the  text  of  the  book  is  in  Latin  the  Cipher  is 
in  English. 

The  decipherer  is  not  a  Greek  scholar 'and  would  be  in- 
capable of  creating  these  extended  arguments,  which  differ 
widely  in  phrasing  from  any  translation  extant,  and  are 
written  in  a  free  and  flowing  style  which  will  be  recog- 
nized as  Baconian. 

Homer  was  evidently  a  favorite  author,  and  in  all  the 
books  deciphered  it  is  repeated  that  the  translations,  in 
Iambic  verse,  will  be  found  in  the  Word-Cipher,  and  these 
summaries  are  to  aid  in  the  production  of  them.  Close 
students  of  Shakespeare  and  Spenser  have  noted  in  the 
plays  and  poems  many  fragments  of  the  Iliad,  and  a  portion 
of  that  epic  has  already  been  deciphered. 

The  books  deciphered  cover  a  period  of  about  twenty 
years,  in  which  Bacon  was  writing  into  them  the  secrets 
of  his  life.  The  repetitions  of  the  sorrowful  story  take  on 
the  different  moods  in  which  he  wrote  and  the  variations 
of  mental  activity  during  that  long  period. 

Grieving  over  the  tragic  death  of  his  brother,  and  his 
part  in  bringing  it  about,  which  was  an  ever  present  cause 
of  remorse,  and  brooding  over  the  wrongs  and  sorrows  that 
had  been  forced  upon  himself,  his  mind  passes  through 
many  changeful  emotions  as  the  years  progress,  and  the 
Bi-literal  Cipher  becomes  the  receptacle  of  his  plaints — the 
escape  valve  of  his  momentary  passions — the  record  of  his 
lost  hopes,  and  the  expression  of  those  which  he  still  cher- 
ished for  the  future  in  the  prophecy, — "I  look  out  to  the 
future,  not  of  years,  but  of  ages,  knowing  that  my  labours 
are  for  the  benefit  of  a  land  very  farr  off,  and  after  great 

length  of  time  is  past." 

ED. 
Detroit,  March,  1899. 


PREFACE. 


SECOND  EDITION. 


Since  the  issue  of  the  first  small  edition  of  "The  Bi-literal 
Cipher  of  Sir  Francis  Bacon"  in  April,  1899,  (limited  to 
private  circulation)  the  work  of  deciphering  the  hidden 
story  found  in  the  old  original  books  has  gone  steadily  for- 
ward, and  the  results  are  now  presented  with  some  gaps 
filled,  and  chronological  order  of  writing  much  more  closely 
followed  through  the  increased  number  of  volumes  to  which 
access  has  been  made  possible. 

The  securing  of  the  old  original  books  necessary  has  been 
no  slight  task.  The  sources  from  which  they  have  been 
obtained  have  been  numerous.  The  first  to  be  deciph'ered  was 
our  own  photographic  Fac-simile  of  the  1623  Folio-secured 
in  London,  from  the  scattered  library  of  Lord  Coleridge,  the 
book  having  his  signature  upon  the  title  page.  The  dis- 
closures found  in  this  were  the  inspiration,  and  held  the 
directions  which  have  led  to  the  prosecution  of  the  work 
thus  far  so  successfully  accomplished.  The  private  library 
of  old  editions  belonging  to  Mrs.  C.  M.  Pott,  the  eminent 
Baconian  savante,  of  London,  was  placed  at  our  disposal, 
yielding  valuable  material.  The  old  book  stores  of  London 
furnished  some  volumes.  The  collection  of  rare  old  books 
of  Dodd,  Mead,  <fe  Co.  was  drawn  upon.  An  old  original 
Henry  Seventh  was  found  and  purchased  from  a  New  York 
collection.  In  the  invaluable  collection  of  rare  old  books 
in  the  private  library  of  Marshall  C.  Lefferts,  of  New  York, 
were  found  some  volumes  not  elsewhere  procurable,  and 
these  were  kindly  loaned  to  us.     To  Dr.  John  Dane,  of 


16  ■  PREFACE. 

Boston,  we  are  also  indebted  for  the  loan  of  rare  volumes 
not  in  the  libraries.  The  Boston  and  Harvard  Libraries 
held  a  considerable  number  of  old  editions  and  afforded 
facilities  for  their  use  during  several  months  of  research. 
The  Lenox  Library  of  New  York  also  opened  its  choice  col- 
lection of  original  editions  of  Shakespeare,  from  some  of 
which  photographic  reproductions  of  title  pages,  dedica- 
tions, etc.,  were  taken.  Upon  another  page  will  be  found 
a  list  of  the  editions  used  and  where  they  were  obtained. 

In  all,  about  6,000  pages  of  these  original  editions  have 
been  gone  over,  the  Italic  letters  transcribed  "in  groups  of 
five,"  and  each  letter  examined  for  the  peculiarities  which 
should  determine  the  particular  font  of  type  from  which  it 
was  printed,  and  its  resulting  significance  in  the  Cipher 
plan. 

We  have  so  far  been  unable  to  gain  access  to  the  neces- 
sary editions  between  1579  and  1590  to  determine  the  exact 
date,  and  the  book  which  holds  the  first  dangerous  experi- 
ment of  the  inventor  of  this  Cipher.  Sufficient,  however, 
has  been  translated  to  outline  the  object,  scope  and  main 
features  of  the  Bi-literal,  as  well  as  the  plan  of  the  Word 
Cipher,  confirming  both,  as  has  been  elsewhere  stated  and 
establishing  beyond  question  the  authorship  in  Bacon  of 
the  works  in  which  they  are  found. 

The  Cipher  Story  is  unique  in  literature,  first  from  the 
peculiar  method  of  hiding,  and  next,  in  what  it  tells.  It 
is  not  ours  to  reason  why  Francis  Bacon  should  have  taken 
this  method  to  communicate  with  the  "far  off  ages."  That 
the  reasons  were  sufficient  to  him,  to  induce  great  pains  in 
their  transmission,  is  evident.  It  is  sufficient  for  us  to 
have  found  the  secret  story,  and  record  what  we  find,  as  we 
find  it.     The  mystery  surrounding  much  of  the  Elizabethan 


PREFACE.  17 

period,  and  its  conflicting  records,  suggest  many  things  vet 
to  be  discovered.  The  prosecution  of  the  investigations 
which  shall  unearth  these  must  be  left  to  those  nearer  the 
scenes  of  action,  having  facilities  beyond  our  present  oppor- 
tunities. 

The  discovery  of  the  Cipher  will  doubtless  put  many  on 
the  search,  and  finding  so  much  will  aid  in  delving  deeper, 
tlirowing  side  lights  upon  many  things  that  have  been  in- 
comprehensible, leading  to  further  disclosures  of  value  to 
the  historian  and  lovers  of  truth.  It  is  to  be  hoped 
that  further  search  may  be  made  for  original  papers, 
clues  followed  that  may  lead  to  their  location,  that  no  stone 
be  left  unturned  which  may  seem  to  cover  the  hiding  place 
of  manuscript  or  written  line  that  will  clear  up  any  portion 
of  that  which  remains  undiscovered. 

HOWARD  PUBLISHING  COMPANY. 

Detroit,  June,  1900. 


AKGUMENT. 

All  agree  that  two  names  stand  at  the  head  of  the  literary 
achievements  of  the  Elizabethan  era — William  Shake- 
speare, as  a  dramatic  writer,  and  Francis  Bacon,  as  the 
greatest  of  writers  in  all  branches,  scientific,  philosophic, 
legal  and  literary,  taking  all  knowledge  for  his  province — 
the  most  learned  man  of  his  day. 

Concerning  the  first,  all  writers  agree  that  nothing  is 
known  of  him  personally  which  points  to  eminence.  Quot- 
ing from  George  Brandes,  the  Danish  writer,  whose  book 
is  among  the  strongest  of  the  late  writings  upon  the  Plays, 
and  whose  keen  analysis  of  them  is  an  educa1:ion  and  a  de- 
light, we  read :  ''A¥hen.  we  pass  from  the  notabilities  of 
the  nineteenth  century  to  Shakespeare,  all  our  ordinary 
critical  methods  leave  us  in  the  lurch.  We  have,  as  a  rule, 
no  lack  of  trustworthy  information  as  to  the  productive 
spirits  of  our  own  day  and  of  the  past  two  centuries.  We 
know  the  lives  of  authors  and  poets  from  their  own  accounts 
of  themselves  or  those  of  their  contemporaries;  in  many 
cases  we  have  their  letters;  and  we  not  only  possess  works 
attributed  to  them  but  works  which  they  themselves  gave 
to  the  press. 

"It  is  otherwise  with  Shakespeare  and  his  fellow  drama- 
tists of  Elizabethan  England.  He  died  in  1616,  and  the 
first  biography  of  him,  a  few  pages  in  length,  dates  1Y09. 
We  possess  no  letters  of  Shakespeare  and  only  one  (a  busi- 
ness letter)  addressed  to  him.     Of  the  manuscript  of  his 


ARGUMENT.  19 

works,  not  a  single  line  is  extant.  Our  sole  specimens  of 
his  hand  writing  consist  of  five  signatures,  three  appended 
to  his  will,  two  to  contracts,  and  one  other  of  very  doubtful 
authenticity. 

"We  do  not  know  how  far  several  of  the  works  attributed 
to  Shakespeare  are  really  his.  In  the  case  of  some  of  the 
Plays,  the  question  of  authorship  presents  great  and  mani- 
fold difficulties.  In  his  youth  Shakespeare  had  to  adapt 
or  retouch  the  plays  of  others;  in  later  life  he  sometimes 
collaborated  mth  younger  men.  *  *  *  He  seems 
never  to  have  sanctioned  any  publication,  or  to  have  read 
a  single  proof  sheet. 

"It  has  become  the  fashion  to  say,  not  without  some 
show  of  justice,  that  we  know  next  to  nothing  of  Shake- 
speare's life.  We  do  not  know  for  certain,  either,  when 
he  left  Stratford  or  when  he  returned  to  Stratford  from 
London.  We  do  not  know  for  certain  that  he  ever  went 
abroad,  ever  visited  Italy.  We  can  form  but  tentative 
conjectures  as  to  the  order  in  which  his  works  were  pro- 
duced, and  can  only  with  the  greatest  difficulty  determine 
their  approximate  dates.  We  do  not  know  what  made  him 
so  careless  of  his  fame  as  he  seems  to  have  been.  We  only 
know  that  he  himself  did  not  publish  his  dramatic  works, 
and  that  he  does  not  even  mention  them  in  his  will." 

There  follow  nearly  800  pages  of  critical  analysis  of 
the  plays,  but  so  far  as  connecting  Shakespeare's  personal- 
ity in  any  way  Avith  the  authorship  of  them  is  concerned,  it 
is  admittedly  pure  romance  and  every  statement  a  con- 
jecture. 

Concerning  Francis  Bacon,  his  life,  from  the  age  of 
twelve  years,  when  in  the  halls  of  learning,  he  took  issue 
with  his  preceptors  upon  the  gravest  questions,  is  an  open 


20  ARGUMENT. 

book,  in  which  is  recorded  the  formative  progress  of  a 
great  mind,  advancing  in  knowledge  and  in  honors  to  the 
position  of  Lord  High  Chancellor  of  England,  and  in  the 
world  of  letters  to  a  world-wide  fame  as  the  greatest  genius 
of  that  age. 

For  nearly  fifty  years  now  there  has  been  growing  doubt 
as  to  the -authorship  of  the  plays  appearing  under  the  name 
of  William  Shakespeare,  and  a  growing  belief  that  the  name 
was  the  nom-de-plume  of  another  person  or  persons,  and 
only  by  its  similarity,  coupled  with  the  fact  of  his  being  an 
actor,  did  it  attach  to  the  man — Shaks-per — from  Stratford. 

That  Bacon  was  the  real  author  was  apparently  first  sug- 
gested by  the  similarity  of  philosophy  and  sentiment — of 
parallelisms  in  thought  and  expression,  and  with  the  deeper 
study  of  these,  the  Bacon-Shakespeare  question  was  upon  us. 

Mr.  Fiske  tells  of  "Forty  Years  of  the  Bacon-Shakespeare 
Folly,"  and  although  the  books  that  have  been  written  upon 
the  subject  would  form  a  considerable  library  of  them- 
selves, he  "forgot  to  classify  them,"  but  as  an  afterthought 
considered  they  should  have  been  placed  with  those  of 
"Cranks  and  their  Crochets,"  which  he  consigned  to  the 
department  of  "Insane  or  Eccentric"  literature.  He 
brushes  aside,  in  that  delightfully  sarcastic  way  of  his,  as 
unimportant,  the  deep  researches — the  gathering  together 
of  data  and  facts  that  throw  new  light  upon  the  Elizabethan 
period — the  evolution  of  which  has  resulted  in  placing  in 
our  hands  the  positive  proofs  that  not  only  the  plays,  but 
some  other  literature  attributed  to  other  authors,  came  from 
the  hand  and  brain  of  Francis  Bacon. 

Bacon  says  that  'tis  the  mysterious  that  attracts. 

The  discussion  of  authorship  has  given  impulse  to  the 
study  of  that  period.     It  is  found  to  be  full  of  mvsterv. 


ARGUMENT.  31 

The  records  of  its  literature  and  history  lack  conciseness  and 
certainty,  are  in  many  things  irreconcilable,  leading  to 
much  speculation  and  conjecture,  stimulating  the  search  for 
documents,  manuscripts,  data,  anything  authentic  to  correct 
manifest  inconsistencies  and  furnish  missing  links  in  the 
narrative. 

The  question  of  Ciphers  in  the  Plays  dates  back  to  the 
early  discussion  of  authorship.  Much  time  and  effort  in 
searching  for  them  have  been  expended  without  avail.  Two 
principal  Ciphers  have  now,  however,  been  found  and  devel- 
oped, not  only  in  the  Plays,  but  in  some  other  of  the  old 
books  of  that  day  which  throw  a  flood  of  light  upon  the 
mysteries  that  have  been  so  puzzling. 

The  first  to  be  discovered  was  the  Word  Cipher,  by  Dr. 
Owen;  the  second  was  Bacon's  Bi-literal  Cipher,  by  Mrs. 
E.  "W.  Gallup,  who  had  been  associated  with  Dr.  Owen  in 
the  preparation  of  the  later  books  published  imder  his  name. 
Both  Ciphers  have  been  worked  out  to  sufficient  length — 
nearly  2,000  pages — to  disclosfe  their  great  historical  and 
literary  value,  to  confirm  them  both,  and  to  solve  effectu- 
ally and  satisfactorily  many  of  the  questions  that  have  been 
in  doubt.  They  furnish  positive  proofs  of  their  own  exist- 
ence, and  tell  a  narrative  as  varied,  as  interesting,  as  roman- 
tic, as  any  on  the  printed  page,  holding  much  of  truth  that 
has  never  been  told. 

The  Bi-literal  Cipher  is  not  new.  It  is  the  invention  of 
Bacon  while  in  France,  and  is  more  or  less  familiar  to  every 
student  of  his  works,  for  no  "De  Augmentis"  is  without  its 
chapter  on  ciphers,  and  the  illustration  of  this,  as  Bacon 
terms  it,  the  highest  type  of  cipher  writing.  And  it  is 
familiar  to  many  in  a  practical  way,  who  may  never  have 
known  that  it  is  the  basis  of  the  most  important  cipher  codes 


33  ARGUMENT. 

in  use  at  the  present  day.  What  is  new,  and  startling,  and 
what  renders  the  work  of  Mrs.  Gallup  of  inestimable  value, 
is  her  discovery  that  this  Cipher  exists  in  the  original  writ- 
ings of  its  inventor,  and  records  the  secrets  of  his  own  life, 
with  the  reasons  for  their  hiding,  a  fitting  object  and  motive 
for  its  use. 

The  revelations  of  the  Ciphers  are  startling,  and  yet 
they  are  repeated  in  the  different  books  with  such  circum- 
stantiality of  detail — such  accord  with  recorded  history,  so 
far  as  the  records  show — that  we  are  forced  against  our 
wills  to  acknowledge  their  truth. 

First :  Bacon  tells  us  how  and  why  he  wrote  these  im- 
portant Ciphers  into  his  works.  The  Bi-literal  describes 
the  other  and  contains  full  instructions  for  writing  both, 
the  topics  and  an  epitome  of  what  was  to  be  written  out,  the 
keys  and  where  the  material  was  to  be  found  from  which 
to  build  the  more  important  structure  of  the  Word  Cipher 
which  would  comprise  History,  Tragedy,  Comedy  and  Ro- 
mance, in  fact,  a  new  literature  as  fascinating  as  strange, 
concerning  the  life  and  times  of  Bacon  as  they  were,  and 
differing  materially  from  what  they  had  been  made  to 
appear. 

Secondly:  That  he  was  the  author,  though  unknown 
as  such,  of  works  masqued  under  the  name  of  Spenser, 
Shakespeare,  Marlowe,  Greene,  Peele  and  Robert  Burton; 
that  five  short  plays  written  by  Bacon  were  printed  as  Ben 
Jonson's;  that  Jonson's  own  works  contained  the  Cipher, 
in  the  Italic  letters,  by  permission,  which  fact  is  certified  to 
in  a  Cipher  letter  over  Jonson's  own  name,  and  repeated 
in  the  Cipher  narrative,  found  in  the  other  books. 

Thirdly:  The  details  of  his  parentage  and  secret  per- 
sonal history.     As  these  were  being  vigorously  denied  and 


ARGUMENT.  23 

suppressed  by  the  Queen,  the  hidden  story  was  a  dangerous 
one  for  Bacon  to  record,  and  the  fear  of  its  discovery  in  the 
earlier  years  of  its  infolding  was  ever  present  with  its 
author;  but  as  time  passed,  and  with  it  the  personal  peril, 
came  the  fear  that  these  most  important  matters  would  not 
be  brought  to  light  and  his  life  work  in  recording  them 
would  be  lost.  After  at  least  thirty-five  years  of  cipheir 
writing,  as  so  far  traced,  he  published  in  the  Latin  his  great 
work,  De  Augmentis,  and  in  the  chapter  on  Ciphers  gave  a 
full  explanation  and  the  key  to  the  system,  and  yet  it  has 
waited  for  three  hundred  years  for  an  eye  sufficiently  acute 
to  note  its  existence  in  the  numerous  books,  and  the  indomit- 
able patience  and  perserverance  to  follow  it,  letter  by  letter, 
through  nearly  six  thousand  pages  of  original  editions,  as 
the  long  story  has  been  unfolded. 

In  almost  every  work  are  found  repetitions  of  some  of 
the  chief  statements,  though  in  different  form.  The  rea- 
son given  for  this  was  that  the  writer  could  not  expect  the 
decipherer  would  begin  where  the  Cipher  itseK  began,  and 
also  that,  should  any  book  be  lost,  the  plan  could  still  be 
followed  from  what  the  others  should  reveal. 

A  marked  feature  of  the  deciphered  work  is  his  agony  of 
spirit  and  remorse  over  the  action  he  was  compelled  to  take, 
at  the  Queen's  commands,  in  the  trial  of  Essex,  his  younger 
brother — the  second  son  of  the  Queen  and  Leicester.  His 
efforts  to  excuse  and  justify  himself  before  the  world  in  a 
later  age — pathetic  in  the  extreme — is  made  to  appear  as 
one  of  the  strong  motived  for  the  use  of  the  Cipher. 

The  earliest  edition  of  books  so  far  accessible  to  us  in 
which  the  Bi-literal  Cipher  has  been  found,  is  Spenser's 
Muiopotmos,  1590.  It  was  at  an  earlier  date  than  this  that 
the  dangerous  experiment  was  launched,  and  it  is  a  matter 


24  ARGUMENT. 

of  regret  that  so  far  we  have  been  unable  to  gain  access  to 
earlier  editions,  for  in  some  of  these,  between  1579  and 
1590,  the  initial  or  starting  point  will  be  discovered. 

For  a  period  of  about  thirty-five  years,  then,  as  we  have 
said — between  1590  and  the  death  of  Bacon — this  progres- 
sive narrative  has  beeii  traced,  and  while  it  is  not  all  the 
list  of  works  to  be  deciphered,  the  repetitions  establish  the 
scope  and  time  and  plan  of  the  work. 

Two  distinct  purposes  are  served  by  the  two  Ciphers. 
The  Bi-literal  was  the  foundation  which  was  intended  to 
lead  to  the  discovery  of  the  other,  and  is  of  prime  import- 
ance in  its  directions  concerning  the  construction  of  the 
AVord  Cipher,  the  keys,  and  the  epitome  of  the  topics  which 
were  to  be  written  out  by  its  aid.  It  seems,  also,  to  have 
been  the  expression  of  the  writer's  thoughts  of  the  moment, 
a  sort  of  diary  which  caught  and  recorded  the  passing  emo- 
tions, day  by  day,  without  regard  to  what  had  gone  before 
or  would  follow,  and  as  in  many  another  diary,  we  find  ex- 
pressed in  different  words  the  trend  of  the  mind  as  affected 
by  the  varying  moods — sometimes  sad  and  mournful — 
again  defiant  and  rebellious — and  again  despondent,  almost 
in  despair,  that  his  MTongs  might  fail  of  discovery,  even  in 
the  times  and  land  afar  off  to  which  he  looked  for  greater 
honor  and  fame,  as  well  as  vindication. 

Chafing  under  the  cloud  upon  his  birth,  the  victim  of  a 
destiny  beyond  his  control  which  ever  placed  him  in  a  false 
position,  defrauded  of  his  birthright,  which  was  of  the 
highest,  he  committed  to  this  Cipher  the  plaints  of  an  out- 
raged soul.  The  decipherer  alone  shares  the  confidences 
of  his  inmost  heart.  To  the  decipherer  he  unbends — to 
the  rest  of  the  world  maintains  the  dignity  which  marked 
his    outward    life.      To  the  decipherer,   and  behind  the 


ARGUMENT.  25 

scenes,  throws  oil  restraint  and  records  the  bitterness  of  the 
thought  which  the  moment  brings — to  the  world  exhibits 
the  stately  movement,  the  careful  thought,  the  studied 
expression.  It  is  a  wonderful  revelation  of  the  undercur- 
rents of  a  hidden  life.  But  it  is  less  smooth — much  of  it — 
as  a  literary  production  than  the  other,  except  in  those 
parts  given  to  the  historical  portions  which  he  sketched  out 
as  the  frame  work  for  amplification  in  the  Word  Cipher. 

The  method  of  the  Word  Cipher,  discovered  by  Dr. 
Owen  now  found  to  be  so  fully  explained  by  the  great  au- 
thor in  the  Bi-literal  Cypher,  is  quite  different,  and  dis- 
closes matter  of  rare  value  as  literary  productions  and  of 
the  most  intense  interest,  embodying  that  which  was  the 
hope  of  Bacon,  would  not  only  establish  his  true  character 
and  birthright,  but  would  bring  added  fame  to  the  writings 
that  had  been  published,  through  those  of  nearly  equal 
volume  which  were  concealed  within  the  lines,  as  first  writ- 
ten, for  the  pages  with  which  we  are  familiar  are  a  recon- 
struction to  hide  the  secret  story. 

The  Bi-Kteral  is  exact — scientific — inflexible.  The 
translation  of  the  Word  Cipher,  however,  like  translations 
from  the  Greek — the  Iliad  or  the  Odysses,  for  example — is, 
within  certain  limitations,  more  elastic.  There  might  be 
variation  in  the  phrasing  of  two  people,  but  the  substance 
would  be  in  accord  from  the  hands  of  experienced  crypto- 
graphers. In  the  modern  editions  of  the  works  the  Bi- 
literal  has  been  obliterated  by  the  elimination  of  the  Italic 
letters.  The  Word  Cipher,  however,  can  be  followed  in 
modern  editions,  not  with  quite  the  exactness  of  the  origi- 
nals, but  in  substance,  and  with  the  smoothness  gained  by 
editing  and  eliminating  some  seeming  incongruities.     But 


26  ARGUMENT. 

Bacon  himself  says,  "Commonly,  the  most  corrected  copies 
are  the  least  correct." 

To  many  it  will  seem  strange,  if  not  well  nigh  incredible, 
that  a  Cipher  message  could  come  down  to  us  in  this  way, 
uncovering  matters  that  had  slept  through  three  centuries, 
hidden  within  the  splendid  literature  so  carefully  studied, 
dissected  and  analyzed  for  hidden  meanings  as  have  been 
the  Plays  and  the  works  of  Bacon.  To  some  it  comes  like 
a  blow;  traditions  shattered — history  turned  awry — ^yet 
there  is  no  destruction :  all  is  there  that  was  there  before — 
and  much  more.  It  is  the  matter  we  have  loved,  not  the 
man!  The  mind's  the  man!  'tis  simply  change — and 
"what's  in  a  name  ?" 

We  are  asked — "what  matters  it" — whether  this  be  so  or 
not?  Why  delve  into  the  mysteries  of  the  past,  and  un- 
settle things'^  It  is  true,  effort  in  this  direction  does  not 
build  raagTiificent  bridges,  nor  does  it  plan  or  dig  tunnels 
of  gigantic  proportions  and  tremendous  utility.  It  does 
not  develop  a  new  use  for  Electricity,  or  the  possibilities  of 
Liquid  Air!  But  when  we  contemplate  the  building  of 
great  temples  of  knowledge,  where  shall  be  gathered  and 
exposed  for  study  the  best  that  past  and  present  has  to 
offer,  is  it  not  worth  the  cost  to  study  truth  for  truth's  sake? 
And  when  we  come  to  decorate  the  memorial  arch  with  the 
figures  that  best  typify  the  greatest  and  best  in  the  world's 
past — of  Arts,  Sciences,  Sculpture,  Painting,  representing 
the  acme  of  human  achievements  in  each  of  these, — and 
shall  seek  to  surmount  by  a  face,  a  figure  or  a  name  which 
shall  typify  Literature  as  embracing  all  Arts, — is  it  not 
worth  our  while  to  be  very  sure  we  name  the  man  aright? 
It  is  laudable  as  well  as  duty  to  pursue  all  threads  of  light 
which  may  illumine  what  has  been  admittedly  a  grave  ques- 


ARGUMENT.  27 

tion,  and  be  very  sure  the  monument  shall  be  truthful. 
Music,  Sculpture,  Art,  may  be  inspiration,  with  a  modicum 
of  preliminary  instruction,  and  we  have  the  careers  of  those 
who  justly  typify  these  in  records  of  acknowledged  authen- 
ticity— but  can  we  believe  that  a  finished  Literature,  with 
a  vocabulary  thrice  that  in  previous  use,  can  come  from 
inspiration  alone? 

Granting  that  the  Shakespeare  Plays  stand  at  the  head 
of  all  English  literature,  we  can  now  speak  with  the  bold- 
ness of  certainty  that  Francis  Bacon  was  the  author,  and 
hence  Truth  and  Justice  demand  that  no  other  face  or 
form  shall  occupy  the  highest  place  in  the  modem  Pan- 
theon— that  no  other  should  stand  first  in  the  galaxy  of 
great  names,  as  the  greatest  genius  of  them  all. 

M. 


NOTES  ON  THE  SHAKESPEAEE  PLAYS. 


Justin  Winsor,  in  his  BibliogTaphy  of  Shakespeare,  says 
regarding  the  first  Folio  edition  of  1623  : 

"It  is  not  likely  that,  even  at  this  late  day,  all  the  copies 
existing  in  England  are  known  to  such  as  may  be  cognizant 
of  their  value.  One  was  discovered  in  1857,  in  a  carpen- 
ter's shop,  among  a  lot  of  old  books  that  had  been  bought 
for  a  few  shillings;  and  similar  surprises  will  doubtless 
again  happen.  Copies  are  known  to  exist  in  Germany,  in 
Spain,  and  probably  elsewhere  on  the  Continent. 

"Steevens  says  that  he  discovered  in  a  manuscript  note 
in  a  copy  belonging  to  White,  a  bookseller  in  Fleet  Street, 
London,  that  the  book  was  published  at  £1,  a  sum  repre- 
senting, of  course,  several  times  the  value  at  the  present 
day;  Grant  White  giving  it  at  $25.00. 

"It  was  in  1864  that  the  bibliomaniac  fervor  over  the 
first  folio  of  Shakespeare  made  its  most  pronounced  display 
at  the  Daniel's  sale.  A  bidder  representing  Almon  W. 
Griswold,  of  Kew  York,  carried  the  figures  high  above  all 
previous  reckonings;  but  the  agent  of  Miss  Burdett-Coutts 
secured  it  for  that  lady's  collection  at  £716,  the  highest 
mark  then  reached,  and  it  has  not  since  been  surpassed." 

Prices  at  which  original  copies  of  the  first  Folio,  have 
since  been  sold  have  largely  exceeded  the  above  amount. 
The  copy  belonging  to  the  late  Augustin  Daly  brought 
$5,400  at  the  great  sale  in  March,  1900. 

28 


NOTES  ON  THE  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.       29 

At  the  time  of  the  publication  of  Winsor's  Bibliography, 
but  nineteen  copies  of  the  Folio  were  known  to  be  in  the 
United  States,  but  the  number  is  now  greatly  increased. 
Under  the  head  of  "Copies  in  the  United  States,  as  far  as 
Known,"  commenting  upon  the  copy  in  possession  of  the 
Boston  Public  Library,  Mr.  Winsor  writes  that  it  "was 
bought  by  Mr.  Barton  of  Thos.  Rodd,  the  London  book- 
seller, in  1845,  standing  No.  8127  in  his  catalogue  for  that 
year;  and  £110  was  paid  for  it." 

"  'No  such  copy,  in  point  of  completeness  and  size,' 
wi'ote  Mr.  Rodd,  who  reserved  it  for  Mr.  Barton  from  the 
first,  'had  been  sold  by  public  auction  for  many  years;  and 
for  a  fine  one,  Mr.  Pick'ering,  the  bookseller,  gave  four 
years  since  £150,  and  sold  it  immediately  for  a  considerable 
advance.'  Rodd  received  it  in  an  old,  but  not  original, 
binding,  and  was  careful  that,  while  it  was  in  Lewis's  hands, 
it  should  neither  be  cut,  nor  the  ink-marks  or  other  stains 
removed.'  " 

Mr.  Winsor  further  states:  "A 'copy  belonging  to  Mr. 
Lenox  has  seemingly  the  date  1622 ;  but  Joseph  Lilly,  the 
bookseller,  in  a  note  to  'The  Literary  Gazette,'  March  8, 
1862,  gives  his  view,  that  'there  is  no  copy  with  the  date 
1622,  the  figure  "3"  being  imperfectly  worked  (or  battered) 
in  that  particular  copy  in  which  it  appears.'  " 

This  copy  cost  in  1855,  £163  16s.  It  is  called  the  Baker 
copy. 

One  of  the  assistant  librarians  at  the  Lenox  Library  dis- 
covered the  secret  of  the  apparent  date,  1622,  which  has 
been  verified  by  a  representative  of  the  Howard  Publishing 
Co.  The  title  page  was  "inlaid"  in  such  a  manner  that  an 
edge  of  the  margin  covered  the  lower  part  of  the  long  "3," 
a]id  a  slight  pen  stroke  made  the  upper  part  appear  as  a 


30  NOTES  ON  THE  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS. 

"2."  Examining  the  leaf  witli  a  lens,  the  entire  figure 
"S"  is  plainly  seen,  the  lower  part  showing  through  the 
paper  when  held  to  the  light. 

In  fact,  it  is  well  known  that  the  Folio  appeared  for  the 
first  time  in  1623,  and  in  the  Cipher  it  is  seen  that  it  follows 
Vitse  &  Mortis,  published  in  the  same  year. 

The  old  vexed  questions  regarding  pirated  editions  of 
the  quartos,  or  attempts  to  determine  which  was  first  of 
those  put  out  in  the  same  year,  find  answer  in  the  Bi-literal, 
directly  or  by  plain  inference.  If  connected  in  such  a  way 
that  the  Cipher  Story  would  otherwise  be  incomplete,  prior- 
ity is  thus  determined.  Often  one  work  mentions  other 
editions.  In  deciphering  Ben.  Jonson's  Folio,  it  was  found 
that  sixty  plays  were  written  as  early  as  1616.  Of  these, 
fifty-six  had  been  traced.  Search  for  the  missing  four  led 
to  an  examination  of  those  which  some  critics  have  rejected 
as  spurious  or  under  suspicion.  Of  these  it  was  found  that 
Pericles,  Sir  John  Old-castle,  London  Prodigal,  and  York- 
shire Tragedy  contained  the  Cipher,  thus  completing  the 
list  of  sixty  referred  to,  and  establishing  the  genuineness  of 
these  four. 

The  Yorkshire  Tragedy  has  the  peculiar  title : 


ALL'S  ONE 
or 

ONTT,  OF  THE  FOUR  PLAIES  IN  ONE,   CALLED 

A  YORKSHIRE  TRAGEDIE, 

as  it  was  plaid  by 

THE  KING'S  MAIESTIES  PLAYERS. 


NOTES  ON  THE  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.  31 

These  are  by  no  means  the  only  plays  weighed  in  the 
balance. 

In  Justin  AVinsor's  '•]N'ote  on  the  Authorship  of  the 
Three  Parts  of  Henry  Sixth"  we  read : 

"Hudson  says  that  'Malone  figured  out  tHat  the  two  plays 
[second  and  third  parts],  in  their  present  state,  contain 
6,043  lines,  and  that  of  these  1,899,  or  nearly  one-third 
were  original  in  the  Folio;  2,373,  something  more  than  a 
third,  were  altered  from  the  quarto;  and  1,771,  which  is 
something  less  than  a  third,  were  the  same  in  both.  N^early 
all  the  matter  of  the  quartos  is  retained  in  the  Folio;  the 
rejections  being  few  and  small.' 

"That  one  or  both  were  written  in  part  by  Shakespeare 
is  the  opinion  of  Drake,  who  holds  that  Shakespeare  im- 
proved the  works  of  others;  of  Hartley  Coleridge,  who  says, 
'The  True  Tragedie  of  Richard  Duke  of  Yorke  was  cer- 
tainly the  original  which  Shakespeare  partially  retouched 
without  much  improving  the  rudeness  of  the  outline';  of 
Hunter,  who  says,  'They  have  evidently  much  of  Shake- 
speare's hand,  but  there  are  in  them  portions  of  an  inferior 
hand';  and  of  Part  II.,  Hunter  again  says,  'Shakespeare 
was  employed  in  altering  and  amending  the  work  of  a  pre- 
ceding and  inferior  dramatist,  but  there  is  much  from  his 
hand,  and  some  parts  in  this  and  in  the  third  play  are  even 
in  his  best  manner' ;  of  Halliwell,  who  thinks  'Part  III.  is 
an  older  drama,  with  such  interpolations  from  Shakespeare 
as  could  be  collected  from  notes  at  the  theatre';  of  the 
Cambridge  editors,  who  think  'Shakespeare  had  a  consider- 
able share  in  them' ;  of  Grant  White,  who  holds  that  'they 
contain  the  work  of  Greene,  Marlowe  and  Shakespeare,  and 
of  such  material  parts  of  them  as  were  transferred  to  the 


83  NOTES  ON  THE  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS. 

Second  and  Third  Parts  of  Henry  Sixth  were  Shakespeare's 
own.' 

"Staunton  agrees  with  Halliwell  that  the  old  plays 
showed  Shakespeare's  additions  to  an  undiscovered  original. 
Rives,  in  his  Essay,  agrees  with  Grant  White,  that  Shake- 
speare wrote  the  parts  of  Clifford  and  Warwick,  and  Greene 
those  of  Eichard  and  Edward. 

"They  are  held  to  be  of  other  authorship  than  Shake- 
speare's by  Theobald,  AVarburton,  Drake,  Hallam,  Har- 
ness, etc. 

"That  they  are  attributable  to  Eobert  Greene  is  held  by 
Gervinus  to  be  a  plausible  conjecture. 

"They  are  given  to  Marlowe  in  the  Chalmer's  Catalogue. 
Malone  ascribes  Part  III.  to  Marlowe;  and  Hartley  Cole- 
ridge says  of  the  same  part,  that  'it  is  ascribed  to  Marlowe 
with  much  probability.'  Dyce  strongly  suspects  both  parts 
to  have  been  wholly  from  the  pen  of  Marlowe. 

"They  are  ascribed  to  Greene  and  Marlowe  by  many." 

In  George  Brandos  scholarly  work  of  recent  date  we 
read : 

"Though  there  are  doubtless  in  the  older  plays  portions 
unworthy  of  Shakespeare,  and  more  like  the  handiwork  of 
Greene,  while  others  strongly  suggest  Marlowe,  both  in 
matter,  style  and  versification,  there  are  also  passages  in 
them  which  cannot  be  by  anyone  else  than  Shakespeare. 
And  while  most  of  the  alterations  and  additions  which  are 
found  in  the  second  and  third  parts  of  Henry  VI.  bear  the 
mark  of  unmistakable  superiority,  and  are  Shakespearian 
in  spirit  no  less  than  in  style  and  versification,  there  are  at 
the  same  time  others  which  are  decidedly  un-Shakespearian 
and  can  almost  certainly  be  attributed  to  Marlowe.  He 
must,   then,   have   collaborated  with   Shakespeare   in  the 


NOTES  ON  THE  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.  33 

adaptation,  unless  we  suppose  that  his  original  text  was  care- 
lessly printed  in  the  earlier  quartos,  and  that  it  here  reap- 
pears, in  the  Shakespearian  Henry  VI.,  corrected  and  com- 
pleted in  accordance  with  his  manuscript. 

"Other  additions  also  seem  only  to  have  restored  the 
older  form  of  the  plays — those,  to  wit,  which  really  add 
nothing  new,  ^ut  only  elaborate,  sometimes  more  copiously 
than  is  necessary  or  tasteful,  a  thought  already  clearly  indi- 
cated. But  there  is  another  class  of  additions  and  altera- 
tions which  surprises  us  by  being  unmistakably  in  Mar- 
lowe's style.  If  these  additions  are  really  by  Shakespeare, 
he  must  have  been  under  the  influence  of  Marlowe  to  a 
quite  extraordinary  degree.  Swinburne  has  pointed  out 
how  entirely  the  verses  which  open  the  fourth  act  of  the 
Second  Part  are  Marlowesque  in  rhythm,  imagination  and 
choice  of  words;  but  characteristic  as  are  these  lines — ^they 
are  by  no  means  the  only  additions  which  seem  to  point 
to  Marlowe." 

Regarding  the  variations — "additions  and  alterations" 
and  oftentimes  omissions — Bacon  says  in  the  Bi-literal 
Cipher:  "I  alwaies  alter  even  when  there  bee  more  to 
adde,  and  I  may  take  many  of  the  parts  put  out  in  Quarto 
form  to  reset  th'  same,  having  made  a  planne  to  increase 
one,  by  making  a  likeness  in  th'  theame  easily  suit  th' 
thoughts  and  ene  sundry  verses  of  others.  It  may  be  a 
long  time  ere  I  can  put  into  use  most  choice  lines  so  cul'd 
from  early  plays" * 

Concerning  the  diversity  of  style,  he  also  says  in  the 
Cipher :  "I  varied  my  stile  to  suit  different  men,  since  no 
two  shew  th'  same  taste  and  like  imagination."**     And 

*Page  156.  **Page  200. 


84  NOTES  ON  THE  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS. 

again:  "When  I  have  assiim'd  men's  names,  th'  next  step 
is  to  create  for  each  a  stile  naturall  to  the  man  that  yet 
should  let  my  owne  bee  seene,  as  a  thrid  of  warpe  in  my 
entire  fabricke/'***  while  in  his  open  work  we  find,  "Style 
is  as  the  subject-matter." 

The  Bi-literal  Cipher  has  been  extracted  from  more 
than  one  edition  of  some  of  the  plays.  On.  comparison,  it 
appears  that  while  some  of  the  different  editions  vary  but 
slightly  in  the  text,  yet  in  the  words  that  are  Italicised  the 
changes  are  very  great,  and  in  that  manner  each  is  made  to 
tell  a  different  hidden  story.  Two  quarto  editions  of 
Pericles  (1609  and  1619),  Merchant  of  Venice  (both  dated 
1600),  Richard  II.  (1598  and  1615),  and  Midsummer 
jN'ight's  Dream  (1600),  have  been  deciphered,  besides  the 
three  last  named  plays  as  they  are  printed  in  the  Tolio, 
where  the  Italicised  words  are  still  different  from  those  in 
either  of  the  quartos.  I'he  Italics  used  in  Richard  II 
CI  615),  quarto,  are  nearly  double  the  number  used  in  the 
edition  of  1598,  and  in  the  Folio  are  still  greater  variations 
in  the  particular  words  Italicised  and  in  the  number  of 
them,  as  well  as  in  the  fonts  of  type  from  which  the  letters 
were  chosen.  Thus  is  shoAvn  that  the  variations,  as  well  as 
other  seeming  inconsistencies  in  typography,  style,  and 
matter,  are  for  the  purposes  of  the  Cipher,  and,  we  repeat, 
they  prove  conclusively  that  Bacon  was  the  author. 

KATE  B.  WELLS. 

♦♦♦Page  54. 


STEISTOGEAPHY,  OE  "SHOKT-HAND"  WEITING 
IN  THE  TIIVCE  OF  QUEEl^  ELIZABETH. 

The  opinion  has  not  infrequently  found  expression  that 
it  was  beyond  the  ability  of  Francis  Bacon,  great  writer 
as  he  was,  to  have  written  all  the  matter  that,  through  the 
Cipher,  is  now  attributed  to  him,  and  to  correct  the  impres- 
sion which  is  prevalent  that  "Short-hand"  methods  were  not 
in  use  at  that  time,  we  give  place  to  the  following  article 
from  the  pen  of  Mrs.  C.  M.  Pott,  in  Baconiana,  London, 
January,  1900. 

It  appears  that  an  argument  against  the  possibility 
of  Francis  St.  Alban  being  the  author  of  all  that  has 
been  claimed  for  him,  is  based  upon  at  least  one  great 
fallacy,  namely,  thtit  Francis  St.  Alban  could  not  have 
transmitted  his  thoughts  and  conceptions  (as  some  of 
us  maintain  that  he  did)  verbally,  so  that  his  utterances 
could  be  taken  down  in  "short-hand"  by  some  of  his 
secretaries.  "It  is,"  says  one  correspondent,  "the  gen- 
eral belief  that  there  were  no  ^short-hand'  methods  in 
those  days,  and  that  transcribing  as  well  as  printing 
was  a  slow  and  laborious  process, — and  we  cannot 
make  people  believe  to  the  contrary." 

The  present  lines  are  written  not  with  the  intention 
of  giving  a  history  of  stenography,  but  in  order  once 
and  for  all  to  do  away  with  this  mistaken  idea  amongst 
our  own  circle  of  readers,  however  much  the  erroneous 
belief  may  remain  with  "the  general." 


33 


STENOGRAPHY,  OR  SHORT-HAND  WRITING. 

The  first  English  book  on  Stenography  seems  to 
have  been  that  published  by  T.  Bright,  in  1588.  Here 
we  may  pause  to  note  three  particulars : 

1.  T.  Bright  was  Dr.  Timothy  Bright,  under 
whose  name  the  "Anatomy  of  Melancholy"  was  first 
published  in  1587.  This  edition  is  entered  in  the 
British  Museum  Catalogue  as  the  work  of  T.  Bright. 
The  subsequent  editions  take  no  notice  of  Bright,  but 
are  published  in  the  name  of  Burton. — "What's  in  a 
namef — In  the  introduction  to  the  "Biliteral  Cipher 
of  Francis  Bacon"  the  Editor,  calling  attention  to 
these  facts,  adds  that  "The  Cipher  mentions  both 
Bright  and  Burton  as  names  under  which  'Bacon' 
wrote  the  book,  and  also  that  the  different  editions 
•contain  each  a  different  cipher  story." 

3.  "T.  Bright"  dedicated  his  book  on  short-hand 
writing  to  Queen  Elizabeth,  with  the  title  "Charac- 
terie,  or  the  Art  of  Short,  Swift  and  Secret  Writing." 

3.  At  the  time  of  the  publication  of  this  book, 
Erancis  was  27  years  of  age,  and  passing  through  a 
period  of  the  greatest  leisure  which  he  ever  enjoyed. . 
From  1586  to  1590  there  is  hardly  a  trace  of  his  do- 
ings, but  the  press  was  teeming  with  and  issuing  works 
of  all  kinds — the  English  Renaissance  had  begun. 

To  the  Treatise  on  Short  Writing  of  1588,  there 
followed  "The  Writing  School-master,"  by  "Peter 
Bale."  Here  we  are  told  that  "Brachygraphy,  or  the 
art  of  writing  as  fast  as  a  man  speaketh  treatably,  may 
in  appearance  seem  difficult,  but  it  is  in  effect  very- 
easy,  containing  a  many  commodities  under  a  few 
principles,  the  shortness  whereof  is  obtained  by  mem- 
ory, the  swiftness  by  practice,  the  sweetness  by  indus- 
try." A  most  Baconian  utterance  suggestive  of  its 
true  source.     The  date  of  this  book  is  1590. 

The  next  attempt  towards  improvement  in  the  art 
wems  to  have  been  printed  in  1 602  by  "John  Willis." 
It  was  entitled  "The  Art  of  Stenographic  or  Short 
Writing  by  Spelling  Characterie,"  and  after  this  had 


IN  THE  TIME  OP  QUEEN  ELIZABETH  3T 

passed  through  numerous  editions,  a  fresh  treatise  was 
published  by  Edmund  Willis,  in  1618,  and  two  more 
in  1630,  by  Witt  and  Dix.  These  few  facts  must 
surely  be  sufficient  to  prove  that  short-hand  writing 
began  and  flourished  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  and 
was  vigorously  used  and  improved  upon  during  the- 
sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries. 

That  Francis  not  only  first  introduced  the  art,  but 
that  he  made  good  use  of  it  the  present  writer  does  not 
for  an  instant  doubt.  The  scanty  records  publi«ihed 
of  his  mysterious,  private  life  seem  in  many  places  iOf 
hint,  although  they  do  not  plainly  affii-m  that  this  wa-s 
the  case. 

Hear  the  saying  of  Dr.  Rawley,  when  describing  hi? 
master's  habits  of  perpetual  industry  and  the  delight 
of  his  conversation. 

"His  meals  were  refections  of  the  ear  as  well  as  of 
the  stomach,  like  the  Koctes  Atticse,  or  Convi- 
viae  Deipno-sophistarum,  wherein  a  man  might  be  re- 
freshed in  his  mind  and  understanding  no  less  than 
in  his  body.  And  I  have  known  some,  of  no  mean 
parts,  that,  have  professed  to  make  use  of  their  note- 
books when  they  have  risen  from  his  table"  (so  they 
went  prepared  with  note-books). 

Peter  Boehner,  private  secretary  and  medical  at- 
tendant to  Irancis  "Bacon,"  describes  how  in  the 
morning  he  would  call  him  or  some  other  of  his  secre- 
taries to  his  bedside,  and  how  they  wrote  down  from 
his  lips  the  thoughts  and  ideas  which  he  had  conceived 
in  the  night.  Had  this  process  been  so  "slow  and 
laborious"  as  the  general  belief  is  supposed  to  warrant, 
our  indefatigable  and  nimble-minded  author  would 
have  had  to  pass  most  of  his  days  in  bed.  On  the  con- 
trary, we  think  it  far  more  probable  that  the  amanu- 
ensis could  write  as  fast  as  a  man  could  speak  "treat- 
ably,"  or  in  other  words  slowly  and  with  deliberation, 
as  (in  the  Short  ]^otes  for  Civil  Conversation)  he  en- 


38  STENOGRAPHY,  OR  SHORT-HAND  WRITING. 

joins  upon  others  who  would  speak  pleasantly  and  to 

be    understood:     "In  all  kinds  of  speech it 

is  convenient  to  speak  leisurely,  and  rather  drawingly 
than  hastily" — giving  as  one  reason  for  this,  that  "a. 
slow  speech  confirmeth  the  memory."     Doubtless  it 
is  a  great  help  to  the  writer  from  dictation. 

Now  if  Francis  did  from  the  age  of,  say  25,  dictate 
to  his  short-hand  writers  the  thoughts  which  followed 
each  other  through  his  wonderful  brain,  his  reflections 
on  the  philosophies  which  he  was  studying,  his  com- 
ments upon  books,  w^hich  he  read,  notes  and  sketches 
of  proposed  works,  or  revised  matter  ready  for  the 
press — if  he  seldom  put  pen  to  paper,  but  in  elbow 
chair,  with  head  resting  on  his  hand  (and  "thus  he 
sat")  dictated  in  the  abundance  of  his  full  heart  and 
mind  to  his  expert  short-hand  writers,  they  in  due 
course  transcribing  and  writing  fair  the  sheets  which 
he  had  but  to  read,  and  if  needful  to  correct  and  polish 
— what  a  mass  of  matter  could  he  thus  have  produced 
and  given  to  the  world  under  any  name  but  his  own ! 
Would  that  our  own  thoughts  and  utterances  were 
worthy  of  a  like  method  of  preservation.  We  could 
then  exclaim  with  Armado  in  Love  Labour's  Lost: 
"Devise  wit;  write  pen;  for  I  am  for  whole  volumes 
in  folio." 


FKANCIS  BACOIsT. 


The  life  of  Francis  Bacon  presents  many  and  sharp  con- 
trasts. From  his  earliest  childhood,  which  was  full  of  the 
promise  of  a  bright  intelligence,  until  the  end  of  his  life, 
he  was  in  touch  with  all  that  was  deemed  great  and  most  to 
be  desired.  It  was  full  of  high  hopes  deferred,  with  great 
and  well-warranted  expectations  alternating  with  disap- 
pointments. The  apparent  fulfillments,  like  dead  sea  fruit, 
turned  to  ashes  on  his  lips.  After  a  life  of  weary  but  un- 
successful place  seeking,  success  and  splendor  were  speedily 
followed  by  deepest  humiliation.  Seeming  inconsisten- 
cies in  his  conduct  and  his  character  have  been  the  fruitful 
theme  of  the  highest  eulogy  and  of  strongest  condemnation; 
those  who  knew  him  best,  loved,  admired  and  revered  him, 
and  his  biographers  have  been  able  to  give,  or  suggest,  rea- 
sons, if  not  excuse  for  certain  episodes  in  his  life,  for  which 
others  have  had  but  unsparing  censure.  As  the  value  of 
his  literature  to-day  does  not  depend  upon  his  conduct  three 
hundred  years  ago,  we  can  leave  this  question  where  it 
stands,  rather  than  dull  with  censure  our  appreciation  of  his 
genius. 
,  This  man  who,  as  many  authorities  assert,  was  endowed 
with  the  greatest  intellect  of  the  human  race,  was  born  in 
London  in  1561. 


40  FRANCIS  BACON. 

The  recent  Cipher  discoveries  go  to  show  that  he  was  the 
son  of  Elizabeth,  afterward  Queen  of  England,  who,  while 
imprisoned  in  the  Tower  of  London,  before  her  coronation, 
was  secretly  married  to  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  and  this  son 
should  by  right  have  borne  the  title.  Prince  of  Wales.  The 
dates  of  the  imprisonment  of  Leicester  and  Elizabeth  in 
the  Tower  correspond  sufficiently  with  the  assertion.  A 
matter  so  vitally  affecting  the  destinies  of  England  and 
Elizabeth's  succession  to  the  crown  could  not  then  be 
divulged  and  the  child  was  given  to  Anne  and  Nicholas 
Bacon  and  reared  as  their  own,  under  the  name  by  which 
he  has  since  been  known.  His  foster  father  was  Lord 
Keeper  of  the  Great  Seal  of  England.  His  foster  mother 
was  eminent  for  piety,  virtue  and  learning,  and  was  highly 
skilled  in  the  Greek  and  Latin  tongues. 

At  twelve  years  of  age,  when  most  children  are  but  be- 
ginning to  think,  he  entered  Trinity  College,  Cambridge, 
where,  we  are  told,  the  students  were  forbidden  to  use  even 
in  conversation,  any  other  language  than  Latin,  Greek  or 
Hebrew.  While  at  this  College,  from  his  thirteenth  to  his 
fifteenth  year,  this  marvelous  boy,  studying  the  philosophy 
of  Plato  and  Aristotle  in  the  original  tongue,  became  dis- 
satisfied with  the  futility  of  much  that  was  taught.  He  left 
College  before  he  was  sixteen,  with  his  mind  formed,  and 
habits  of  research  fixed,  thenceforth  to  mature  in  intellec- 
tual independence  and  to  become  the  supreme  scholar  of 
the  age. 

When  sixteen  years  of  age  he  discovered  his  parentage 
and  was  at  once  sent  to  France  with  the  English  Ambassa- 
dor, where  he  remained  something  over  two  years,  until 
recalled  by  the  death  of  Sir  Nicholas  Bacon,  who,  contrary 


FRANCIS  BACON.  41 

to  expectation,  left  no  provision  for  Francis  in  his  will, 
which  becomes  significant  in  the  light  of  the  recent  dis- 
coveries. It  has  always  been  thought  strange  by  his 
biographers  that  his  supposed  father,  Nicholas  Bacon,  made 
no  provision  for  his  support.  Eeasons  of  State,  and  reasons 
of  vast  import  to  the  Queen  of  England,  united  with  the 
unwillingness  of  the  Queen  to  acknowledge  early  indiscre- 
tions, prevented  the  recognition  of  the  rights  of  Francis,  as 
heir  apparent.  He  was  made  to  understand  that  he  must 
shift  for  himself,  and  taking  up  the  study  of  law  as  the 
most  promising  resource,  the  next  five  years  required  by  the 
course,  he  spent  largely  at  Gray's  Inn.  How  much  time 
was  devoted  to  law,  and  how  much  to  literature  and  philo- 
sophical studies  is  unknown. 

At  twenty-five,  amid  exciting  times,  he  was  elected  to 
Parliament  and  was  a  member  of  the  House  of  Commons 
for  several  sessions.  His  aspirations  for  preferment  were 
held  in  check  during  Elizabeth's  reign,  but  with  the  advent 
of  King  James  he  was  more  rapidly  advanced  until  he  be- 
came Lord  High  Chancellor  of  England. 

Three  years  later  he  was  sentenced  for  judicial  corrup- 
tion to  a  heavy  fine  and  imprisonment,  but  the  sentence 
was  remitted,  as  if  tlie  injustice  of  it  was  too  patent  to  be 
enforced.  The  five  remaining  years  of  his  public  life  were 
spent  in  his  literary  labors,  and  the  publication  of  his  works, 
and  his  career  closed  at  the  age  of  a  little  less  than  66  years 
in  1626.  By  his  will,  drawn  just  after  his  sentence,  he  be- 
queathed his  name  '"to  the  next  ages  and  to  foreign  na- 
tions," &.  bequest  literally  carried  out,  as  those  of  the  present 
day  hav  » become  in  the  broadest  sense  his  legatees. 

A  recent  writer  says :  "Whether  as  a  politician  or  as.  a 
justiciary,  a  philosopher  or  man  of  the  world,  there  is  in 


43  FRANCIS  BACON. 

English  history  no  nobler  character  than  that  of  Francis 
Bacon,  yet  no  one  has  been  more  misapprehended,  more 
misrepresented,  more  maligned,  than  has  he."  "He  was 
the  most  remarkable  man  of  whom  any  age  can  boast."  "He 
soared  to  such  a  height  that  his  contemporaries  could  not 
fully  estimate  his  genius,  the  justness  of  his  views,  and  the 
importance  of  his  labors."  Lord  Macaulay  says :  "Bacon's 
mind  was  the  most  exquisitely  constructed  intellect  that  has 
ever  been  bestowed  upon  any  of  the  children  of  men." 
Pope,  that  "Lord  Bacon  was  the  greatest  genius  that  Eng- 
land, or  perhaps  any  other  country,  ever  produced."  De- 
Quincy  calls  him  "the  glory  of  the  human  intellect." 
Welch  writes  that  "he  belonged  to  the  realm  of  imagina^ 
tion,  of  eloquence,  of  jurisprudence,  of  ethics,  of  meta- 
physics. His  writings  have  the  gravity  of  prose,  with  the 
fervor  and  vividness  of  poetry."  Addison,  that  "he  pos- 
sessed at  once  all  those  extraordinary  talents  which  were 

divided  among  the  greatest  authors  of  antiquity 

One  does  not  know  which  to  admire  most  in  his  writings, 
the  strength  of  his  reason,  force  of  style,  or  brightness  of 
imagination;"  while  Edward  Burke  wrote,  "Who  is  there 
that  hearing  the  name  of  Bacon,  does  not  instantly  recog- 
nize everything:  of  genius,  the  most  profound;  of  litera- 
ture, the  most  extensive;  of  discovery,  the  most  penetrat- 
ing; of  observation  of  human  life,  the  most  distinguishing 
and  most  refined."  His  friend  Tobie  Mathews  wrote  of 
him,  "A  man  so  rare  in  knowledge,  of  so  many  several 
kinds,  indued  with  the  facility  and  felicity  of  expressing  it 
all,  in  so  elegant,  significant,  so  abundant,  and  yet  so  choice 
and  ravishing  words,  of  metaphors  and  allusions,  as  perhaps 
the  world  has  not  seen  since  it  was  a  world."  And  Macau- 
lay  avers  "no  man  ever  had  an  imagination  so  thoroughly 


FRANCIS  BACON.  48 

subjugated.  In  truth,  much  of  Baxjon's  life  was  spent  in  a 
"v^isionary  world,  amidst  things  as  strange  as  any  that  are 
described  in  the  Arabian  tales." 

The  German  author  and  critic  Schlegel,  whose  "History 
of  Literature"  is  almost  a  classic,  says :  "This  mighty  genius 
ranks  as  the  father  of  modern  physics,  inasmuch  as  he 
brought  back  the  spirit  of  investigation  from  the  barren, 
verbal  subtleties  of  the  schools,  to  nature  and  experience; 
he  made  and  completed  many  important  discoveries  him- 
self, and  seems  to  have  had  an  imperfect  foresight  of  many 
others. 

"Stimulated  by  his  capacious  and  stirring  intellect,  ex- 
perimental science  extended  her  boundaries  in  every  direc- 
tion ;  intellectual  culture,  nay,  the  social  organization  of 
modern  Europe  generally,  assumed  a  new  shape  and  com- 
plection." 

In  Lord  Macaulay's  essay  these  extracts  occur: 

"With  great  minuteness  of  observation  he  had  an  ampli- 
tude of  comprehension  such  as  has  never  been  vouchsafed 
to  any  other  human  being.  Though  Bacon  did  not  arm  his 
philosophy  with  weapons  of  logic,  he  adorned  her  profusely 
with  all  the  richest  decorations  of  rhetoric."  "In  his  mag- 
nificent day  dreams,  there  was  nothing  wild,  nothing  but 
what  sober  reason  sanctioned.  He  knew  that  all  the 
secrets,  feigned  of  poets  to  have  been  written  in  the  books 
of  the  enchanters,  are  worthless  when  compared  with  the 
mighty  secrets  which  are  really  written  in  the  book  of 
nature;  and  which  vnth  but  time  and  patience  will  be  read 
there.  He  knew  that  all  the  wonders  wrought  by  talis- 
mans in  fable  were  trifles  compared  to  the  wonders  which 
might  reasonably  be  expected  from  the  philosophy  of  fruit, 
and  that  if  his  words  sank  deep  into  the  minds  of  men,  they 


44  FRANCIS  BACON. 

V70\ild  produce  effects  such  as  superstition  never  ascribed 

to  the  incantations  of  the  magicians It  was 

here  that  he  loved  to  let  his  imagination  loose.  He  loved 
to  picture  to  himself  the  vsrorld  as  it  would  be  when  his 
philosophy  should,  in  his  own  noble  phrase,  'have  enlarged 
the  bounds  of  Europe.'  " 

Bacon's  central  thought  was  that  religion,  philosophy 
and  literature  should  have  a  direct  and  practical  bearing 
upon  the  well-being  of  mankind,  and  make  life  easier,  more 
important,  more  interesting.  That  progress  must  be  its . 
purpose  and  end,  for  the  good  of  the  world,  and  this  will 
be  found  to  be  the  key-note  throvighout. 

Our  estimate  of  the  life  and  character  of  Bacon,  as  well 
as  the  political  history  of  the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth, 
must  needs  be  revised  from  the  auto-biographical  and  his- 
torical material  which  the  Cipher  furnishes.  It  has  been 
claimed  that  he  was  cold-blooded,  and  without  affection  or 
regard  for  the  gentler  sex.  The  contrary  is  the  fact.  Dur- 
ing his  stay  in  France  occured  the  absorbing  romance  of  his 
life,  in  a  passionate  love  for  Queen  Marguerite,  the  young 
and  beautiful  wife  of  Henry  of  !N^avarre.  The  life  of  a 
young  Prince  in  the  gay  Court  of  France,  accredited  from 
the  Court  of  England,  a  descendant  of  Henry  the  VII. — 
though  his  title  was  unacknowledged — can  perhaps  be  bet- 
ter imagined  than  described.  The  conduct  of  Henry  of 
N^avarre  had  led  to  expectations  of  a  divorce.  Through- 
out the  Cipher  Story  are  found  references  which  sufficiently 
show  the  powerful  influence  this  absorbing  passion  exer- 
cised over  the  after  life  of  Francis.  A  marriage  was 
planned,  to  take  place  when  divorce  could  be  obtained  from 
N'avarre,  and  Sir  Aymas  Paulet  attempted  to  negotiate  the 


FRANCIS  BACON.  46 

arrangement  with  Queen  Elizabeth,  but  this  not  meeting 
with  her  approval,  the  marriage  scheme  failed  and  the 
divorce  was  not  obtained.  The  Play  of  Romeo  and  Juliet 
is  based  on  this  love  story,  with  Marguerite  and  Erancis 
for  its  real  characters.  In  the  "]^ew  Atlantis,"  published 
after  his  death,  the  Cipher  says : 

"Th'  fame  of  th'  gay  French  Court  had  come  to  me  even 
then,  and  it  was  flattering  to  th'  youthf  uU  and  most  naturall 
love  o'  th'  affaires  taking  us  from  my  native  land,  inasmuch 
as  th'  secret  commission  had  been  entrusted  to  me,  which 
required  much  true  wisdome  for  safer,  speedier  conduct 
then  'twould  have  if  left  to  th'  common  course  o'  businesse. 
Soe  with  much  interessed,  though  sometimes  apprehensive 
minde,  I  made  rayselfe  ready  to  accompanie  Sir  Amyias 
to  that  sunny  land  o'  th'  South  I  learn'd  soe  supremely  to 
love,  that  afterwards  I  would  have  left  England  and  every 
hope  o'  advancement  to  remain  my  whole  life  there.  I^or 
yet  could  this  be  due  to  th'  delights  of  th'  country,  by 
itselfe,  for  love  o'  sweete  Marguerite,  th'  beautiful!  young 
sister  o'  th'  king  (married  to  gallant  Henri  th'  King  o' 
Xavarre)  did  make  it  Eden  to  my  innocent  heart,  and  even 
when  I  learn'd  her  perfidie,  love  did  keepe  her  like  th' 
angels  in  my  thoughts  half  o'  th'  time — as  to  th'  other  half 
she  was  devilish,  and  I  myselfe  was  plung'd  into  hell.  This 
lasted  duri'g  many  yeares,  and,  not  until  four  decades  or 
eight  lustres  o'  life  were  outliv'd,  did  I  take  any  other  to 
my  sore  heart.  Then  I  married  th'  woman  who  hath  put 
Marguerite  from  my  memorie — rather,  I  should  say,  hath 
banisht  her  portrait  to  th'  walles  of  memorie,  onely,  where 
it  doth  hang  in  th'  pure,  undimmed  beauty  of  those  early 
dayes — while  her  most  lovelie  presence  doth  possesse  this 
entire  mansion,  of  heart  and  braine. 


46  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Yet  here  I  have  a  little  digress'd,  although  the  matter 
doth  appertaine  unto  my  story  at  a  later  period.  When 
Sir  Amyias  Paulet  became  avised  of  m.y  love,  he  propos'd 
that  he  should  negotiate  a  treaty  of  marriage,  and  appro- 
priately urge  on  her  pending  case  o'  the  divorce  from  the 
young  Huguenot;  but  for  reasons  of  very  grave  importance 
these  buds  of  an  early  marriage  never  open'd  into  flower. 
But  the  future  race  will  profit  by  th'  failure  in  the  field  of 
love,  for  in  those  flitting  dales  afterward,  having  resolv'd 
to  cover  every  marke  of  defeate  with  th'  triumphs  o'  my 
minde,  I  did  thoroughly  banish  my  tende'  love  dreams  to 
th'  regions  o'  clouds  as  unreall,  and  let  my  works  of  vari- 
ous kinds  absorb  my  minde.  It  is  thus  by  my  disappoint- 
ments that  I  do  secure  to  many,  fruition." 

M. 


CIPHEES. 

Bacon,  fromV;liildhood,  was  intended  for  a  public  career. 
At  that  time  all  diplomatic,  and  much  personal  correspond- 
ence was  committed  to  cipher.  Among  the  substantial 
benefits,  conferred  upon  mankind  by  Bacon,  was  the  inven- 
tion, while  in  France,  of  what  is  known  as  the  Baconian,  or 
Bi-literal  Cipher,  which  is  adaptable  to  a  multitude  of  means 
and  uses.  It  may  not  be  generally  known  that  this  Cipher 
is  the  basis  of  nearly  every  alphabetical  code  in  use  in  teleg- 
raphy, and  in  the  signal  service  of  the  world.  It  is  in  brief, 
an  alphabet  which  requires  only  two  unlike  things  for  its 
operation.  These  may  be  two  slightly  differing  fonts  of 
type  on  a  printed  page,  as  illustrated  in  the  example  given 
at  length  in  his  De  Augmentis,  published  not  long  before 
his  death;  or  it  may  be  a  dot  or  slight  disfigurement  in  a 
single  font,  or  the  alternating  dot  and  dash,  or  short  and 
long  sound  space  of  the  Morse  telegraphic  code,  or  the  alter- 
nating long  and  short  flash  of  light  as  in  the  heliographic 
system;  the  "wig-wag"  of  a  flag  or  signal  light,  or  two  col- 
ored lights  alternately  displayed;  in  short  any  means  what- 
ever alternating  any  two  unlike  or  unequal  signs,  sounds, 
motions  or  things.  Under  the  rules  of  arithmetical  pro- 
gression, almost  innumerable  alphabets  can  be  constructed, 
by  these  means  undecipherable  without  its  particular  key. 
It  has  no  limitations  upon  its  usefulness  and  has  never  been 
surpassed  in  security,  ingenuity  or  simplicity.  Bacon  him- 
self called  this  the  Omnia-per-omnia,  the  all  in  all  cipher, 
and  the  name  is  completely  descriptive. 

47 


48  CIPHERS. 

On  a  following  page,  from  "Advancement  of  Learning," 
(1605),  is  Bacon's  first  reference  to  the  Bi-literal  Cipher. 
The  next  reference  with  the  plan,  and  the  key  to  its  use, 
appears  eighteen  years  later,  in  the  Latin  De  Augmentis 
Scientiarum,  in  1623.  , 

The  system  has  been  recognized,  and  used,  since  the  day 
that  De  Augmentis  was  published,  and  has  had  its  place 
in  every  translation  and  publication  of  that  work  since, 
but  the  ages  have  waited  to  learn  that  it  was  embedded  in 
the  original  books  themselves  from  the  date  of  his  earliest 
writings  (1579  as  now  known)  and  infolded  his  secret  per- 
sonal history. 

The  two  editions  of  De  Augmentis  form  an  illustration 
of  the  manner  in  which  the  different  editions  of  the  same 
work  form  each  a  separate  study  and  tell  a  different  Cipher 
Story.  The  first,  or  "London"  edition,  w^as  issued,  accord- 
ing to  Spedding,  in  October,  1623.  The  next,  or  "Paris" 
edition,  was  issued  in  1624.  They  differ  in  the  Italic 
printing,  and  some  errors  in  the  second  do  not  occur  in  the 
first.  The  1624  edition  has  been  deciphered;  and  the  hid-  • 
den  story  appears  in  this  volume  (page  310).  The  1623 
edition  has  not,  as  yet,  been  deciphered.  It  seems  to  be  a 
rare  edition.  There  are  two  copies  in  the  British  Museum, 
one  in  the  Bodleian  library  at  Oxford,  two  in  Cambridge, 
and  one  in  the  choice  collection  of  old  books  in  the  library 
of  Sir  Edwin  Durning-Lawrence. 

In  the  course  of  the  work,  Marlowe's  Edward  Second 
had  been  deciphered  before  De  Augmentis  was  taken  up. 
At  the  end  of  Edward  Second  occurs  this  veiled  statement, 
referring  to  De  Augmentis  (page  152  Bi-literal  Cypher) 
".  .  .  .  the  story  it  contains  (our  twelft  king's  nativity 
since  our  sovereign,  whose  tragedy  we  relate  in  this  way) 


CIPHERS.  49 

shall  now  know  the  day  .  . "  Had  Francis  succeeded  to 
the  throne,  he  would  have  been  the  twelfth  king  (omitting 
the  queens)  after  Edward  Second,  hence  the  inference  that 
De  Augmentis  would  contain  much  of  his  personal  history. 
The  disappointment  was  great  when  instead  of  this,  the 
hidden  matter  was  found  to  be  the  Argument  of  the  Odys- 
sey, something  not  anticipated,  or  wanted,  and  would  never 
have  been  the  result  of  choice  or  imagination  of  the  deci- 
pherer. At  the  close  of  the  deciphered  work  in  Burton's 
Anatoipy,  in  which  the  Argument  of  the  Iliad  was  most 
unexpectedly  found — another  great  disappointment- — is 
this  veiled  statement:  (page  309)  "...  while  a  Latin 
work — De  Augmentis — will  give  aid  upon  the  other 
(meaning  the  Odyssey).  As  in  this  work  (meaning  the 
Iliad)  favorite  parts  are  enlarged  (in  blank  verse)  yet  as  it 
lendeth  ayde  .  .  ." — i.  e.,  sets  a  pattern  for  the 
writing  out  of  the  Odyssey  in  the  Word  Cipher.  This  ex- 
plained the  1624  edition,  and  the  inference  is  that  the 
1623  edition  will  disclose  the  personal  history  referred  to 
on  page  152. 

In  the  1624  edition  there  are  some  errors  in  the  illus- 
tration of  the  cipher  methods  and  in  the  Cicero  Epistle 
which  do  not  occur  in  the  1623  edition.  The  Latin  words 
midway  on  page  282,  "qui  pauci  sunt"  in  the  1623  edition, 
are  "qui  parati  sunt"  in  the  1624,  page  309, — an  error 
referred  to  on  page  10  of  the  Introduction  of  the  Bi-literal 
Cypher  as  wrong  termination,  there  being  too  many  letters 
for  the  group,  and  one  letter  must  be  omitted.  Other 
variations  show  errors  in  making  up  the  forms  on  pages 
307  and  308  in  the  1624  edition,  whether  purposely  for 


50  CIPHERS. 

confusion  or  otherwise,  it  is  impossible  to  tell.     The  line 
on  page  307, 

"Exemplum  AlpJiabeti  Biformis  " 
should  be  placed  above  the  Bi-formed  Alphabet  on  page 
308,  while 

"Exemplum  Accomodationis" 
should  be  placed  above  the  example  of  the  adaptation  just 
preceding.  The  repetition  of  twelve  letters  of  the  bi-formed 
alphabet  could  hardly  be  called  a  printer's  error,  as  they 
are  of  another  form,  unlike  those  on  the  preceding  page, 
and  may  be  taken  as  an  example  of  the  statement  that  "any 
two  forms  will  do."  In  these  illustrations  the  letters  seem 
to  be  drawn  with  a  pen  and  are  a  mixture  of  script  and  pe- 
culiar forms,  and  unlike  any  in  the  regular  fonts  of  type 
used  in  the  printed  matter.  'No  part  of  the  Cipher  Story  is 
embodied  in  the  script  or  pen  letters  on  these  pages. 
Whether  or  not  the  changing  of  the  lines  was  done  pur- 
posely, the  grouping  of  the  Italic  letters  from  the  regular 
fonts  is  consecutive  as  the  printed  lines  stand,  the  wrong 
make-up  causing  no  break  in  the  connected  narration. 
There  are  many  obscure  statements  throughout  the  Bi- 
literal  Cypher,  such  as  are  noted  in  Edward  Second  and 
in  Burton.  To  the  decipherer  they  have  a  meaning,  indi- 
cating what  to  look  for  and  where  to  find  that  which  is 
necessary  for  correct  and  completed  work,  as  well  as  to 
guard  against  errors  and  incorrect  translation. 

ELIZABETH  WELLS  GALLUP. 


Of  the  Advancement  of  Learning, 

(London,  1605.) 


CYPHARS 


For  C  Y  p  H  A  R  s ;  they  are  commonly  in  Letters 
or  Alphabets,  but  may  bee  in  Wordes.  The  kindes 
of  C  Y  p  H  A  R  s,  (befides  the  Simple  Cyphars 
with  Changes,  and  intermixtures  of  N  vlles,  and 
Nonsignificant s)  are  many,  according  to 
the  Nature  or  Rule  of  the  infoulding:  Wheele- 
Cyphars,  Ka  y-C  yphars,  Dovbles, 
&c.  But  the  vertues  of  them,  whereby  they  are 
to  be  preferred,  are  three ;  that  they  be  not  labor- 
ious to  write  and  reade;  that  they  bee  impofsible 
to  difcypher ;  and  in  fome  cafes,  that  they  bee 
without  fufpition.  The  higheft  Degree  whereof, 
is  to  write  Omnia  Per  Omnia;  which  is 
vndoubtedly  pofsible_,  with  a  proportion  Quintuple 
at  moft,  of  the  writing  infoulding,  to  the  writing 
infoulded,  and  no  other  reftrainte  whatfoeuer. 
This  Arte  of  Cypheringe,  hath  for  Relatiue,  an  Art 
of  Difcypheringe ;  by  fuppofition  vnprofitable ;  but, 
as  things  are,  of  great  vfe.  For  fuppofe  that 
Cyphars  were  well  mannaged,  there  bee  Multitudes 
of  them  which  exclude  the  Difcypherer.  But  in 
regarde  of  the  rawnefle  and  vnskilfulneffe  of  the 
handes,  through  which  they  paffe,  the  greateft 
Matters,  are  many  times  carryed  in  the  weakeft 
Cyphars. 


De  Augmentis  Scientiarum 

(Translation,  Gilbert  Wats,  1640.) 


Wherefore  let  us  come  to  C  y  p  h  a  R  s.  Their  kinds 
are  many,  as  Cyphars  Umple;  Cyphars  intermixt  with 
U^ulloes,  or  non  -  fignificant  Characters ;  Cyphars  of 
double  Letters  under  one  Character;  Wheele-Cyphars ;  Kay- 
Cyphars;  Cyphars  of  IVords;  Others.  But  the  virtues 
of  them  whereby  they  are  to  be  preferr'd  are  Three; 
That  they  be  ready,  and  not  laborious  to  write;  That  they  be 
jure,  and  lie  not  open  to  Deciphering;  And  laflly,  if  it  be 
pofsible,  that  they  be  managed  without  fufpition. 

But  that  jealoufies  may  be  taken  away,  we  will 
annexe  an  other  invention,  which,  in  truth,  we 
devifed  in  our  youth,  when  we  were  at  Paris :  and 
is  a  thing  that  yet  feemeth  to  us  not  worthy  to  be 
loft.  It  containeth  the  highejl  degree  of  Cypher,  which 
is  to  fignifie  omnia  per  omnia,  yet  f  o  as  the  writing 
infolding,  may  beare  a  quintuple  proportion  to  the 
writing  infolded;  no  other  condition  or  reftriction 
whatfoever  is  required.  It  fhall  be  performed  thus: 
Firft  let  all  the  Letters  of  the  Alphabet,  by  tranfpo- 
fition,  be  refolved  into  two  Letters  onely ;  for  the 
tranfpofition  of  two  Letters  by  five  placings  will  be 
fufKicient  for  32.  Differences,  much  more  for  24. 
which  is  the  number  of  the  Alphabet.  The  example 
of  fuch  an  Alphabet  is  on  this  wife. 


An  Example  of  a  'Bi-literarie  Alphabet. 

^        "B         C        T)        E        F 

oAaaaa  aaaab  aaaba.  aaabb.  aabaa.  aabab. 

G         H        I  Kim 

aabba  aabbb  abaaa.  abaab.  ababa.  ababb. 

^       O       T       d      "K        s 

abbaa.  abbab,  abbba.  abbbb.  baaaa.  baaab. 

7         V        JV        X         Y         Z 

baaba.  baabb.  babaa.  babab,  babba.  babbb. 

Neither  is  it  a  fmall  matter  thefe  Cypher-Characteri 
have,  and  may  performe :  For  by  this  Art  a  way  is 
opened,  whereby  a  man  may  exprefle  and  fignifie 
the  intentions  of  his  minde,  at  any  diftance  of 
place,  by  objects  which  may  be  prefented  to  the 
eye,  and  accommodated  to  the  eare  :  provided  thofe 
objects  be  capable  of  a  twofold  difference  onely ; 
as  by  Bells,  by  Trumpets,  by  Lights  and  Torches, 
by  the  report  of- Muskets,  and  any  inftruments  of 
like  nature.  But  to  purfue  our  enterprife,  when 
you  addreffe  your  felfe  to  write,  refolve  your  in- 
ward-infolded Letter  into  this  'Bi-literarie  Alphabet. 
Say  the  interiour  Letter  be 

Fuge. 
Example  of  Solution. 

F  V  G  E 

aabab.     baabb.    aabba.    aabaa. 

Together  with  this,  you  muft  have  ready  at 
hand  a  "Bi-formed  Alphabet,  which  may  reprefent  all 
the  Letters  of  the  Common  Alphabet,  as  well  Capitall 
Letters  as  the  Smaller  Characters  in  a  double 
forme,  as  may  fit  every  mans  occafion. 


An  Example  of  a  'Bi-formed  Alphabet. 

I      a       i     a    b        a      b    a   b         a     b    a  b        a      b      a   b       a      b    a  b       a    b  a   b 

Xd^Aaa  "BBbh  CCccT>Ddd  EEee  FFff 

I       a      b  a  b        a      b     a  b      a    b  a  b       a      b    a   b       a     b  a  b         a        b      a    b 

\GGgg  HHbh  JIH  KKkh  LLll  MMmm 

I       a       b    a    b        a    b     a  b       a      b     a  b         a      b    a  b        abababab 

XU^Nnn  OOoo  TPpp  QJiqq  TiBrr  SSss 

(      a    bab    a      b    a   b    a    b       a        babababababab   ab 

\  7 TttVVvvuu  WWww  XX%x  YYyy  ZZ^z 

Now  to  the  interlour  letter,  which  is  Biliterate, 
you  fhall  fit  a  biformed  exteriour  letter,  which  fhall 
anfwer  the  other,  letter  for  letter,  and  afterwards 
let  it  downe.     Let  the  exteriour  example  be, 

[Manere  te  volo,  donee  venero. 

An  Example  of  Accommodation. 

F         V         G  E 

a      a    b  a  b.b    a  a      b  b.  a  a     b  b  a.  a  a      baa. 

(Manere  te  volo  donee  venero 

We  have  annext  likewife  a  more  ample  example 
of  the  cypher  of  writing  omnia  per  omnia:  An  interiour 
letter,  which  to  expreffe,  we  have  made  choice  of 
a  Spartan  letter  fent  once  in  a  Scytale  or  round 
cypher'd  ftaffe. 

Spartan  Dispatch. 

Ml  is  lost.  zMindarus  is  killed.  The  soldiers 
want  food.  We  can  neither  get  hence  nor  stay  longer 
here. 

An  exteriour  letter,  taken  out  of  the  firft  Epiftle 
of  Cicero,  wherein  a  Spartan  Letter  is  involved. 


Cicero's  First  Epistle. 
Jn  all  duty  or  rather  piety  towards 

a    a        aaa\abab      a\a     b  a  b  a\ab      a  a  a\b  a     a  a   b  \a  b   a  b 
A  \  L  \  L  \  I         \  S  \       L 

youj  I  satisfy  everybody  except  myself. 

a\  a  b         b       a  b\i  a  a  a  b    \  b  a  a  6  a\a  b    a    b      b\  a  b  a  a  a    \  a    b  b  aa\  a 

I  o  \s\t\m\i\n\ 

zMy self  y never  satisfy.  For  so  great  are 

a    a    b  b\a  a    a     a  a\b  a  a     a  a\  b  a  a  b  b     I    b    a  a     ab\abaaa\baa 

d\a\r\u\         S         I         I      \    s 

the  services  which  you  have  rendered  me, 

a  b\a    b  a  a  blab  a  a     a\a  b  a  b      a\a  b      a  b  a\a    abaa\aaab      b\  b 
\  K         \  I  \  L  \  L  \  E  \  D         \ 

that,  seeing  you  did  not  rest  in  your  en- 

aaba\aabbb\a     aba      a\b  a      aab\abba     b\a      i  a  b  a\  a  a 
T       \         H        \  £  \  S  \  O         \  L  \ 

deavours  on  my  behalf  till  the  thing  was 

abb\abaaa\aa       b   a     a\baaaa\baaa     b\b  a    b  a  a\a  a      a   a  a] 

do7ie,  7  feel  as  if  life  had  lost  all  its  sweet- 

ab  b  a       a\  baab     a\a     ab    a  b\a  b     b  a  b\  abba      b\aa     abb  \b  a  baa  I 
N  \t\p\0\0\d\w\ 

ness,  because  J  cannot  do  as  much  in  this 

a  ab  a       a\a  a  a  b  a\a     a     a  a  a  \  a   b  b     a  a  \  a  b      b    a   a\a    a  b     a  a\a  b 

£  \         C     _   \  A  \  N  \  N'  1^1 

cause  of  yours.    The  occasions  are  these: 

a  a  a  \  b  a    a  b    a  \  a  a  b  b  b\  a  a     b  a  a\b  a  a  a  a\a     abb     a\a  a  b  a 

/     \  T  \  H  \  E  \         R         \  G  \        E 

iAmmonius,  the  king' s  ambassador,  open- 

a    \    b     a    a  b  a]  a  a      bbb\aaba     a  \  a    b    b  a  a\a  a  a  b  a  \  a  a  b  a 
I  T  \  H  \  £  [  N  \  C  \  £ 

ly  besieges  us  with  money.     The  business 

a\a      b  b  a  a\a  b  b  a     b  \b      aaaa\baaab     I      baa     b  a\a  a  a  a  a\b 
\        N        \         O         \  R         \  S  I  r  1^1 

is  carried  on  through  the  same  creditors 

a  b    b  a\a  b  a  b  a  \  a  b     b  a  b\a  b  b  a     a\a  a     b  b    a  \  a     abaaibaaaa] 

.     y     \      L      \        o       I       N       \        a       I        -ffl^l 

who  were  employed  in  it  when  you  were 

a  a  b      b   b\a  a     b   a   a\b  a  a  a  a  \  a  a      b  a        a\a  a  a      a  a  a       a  a  a  a 

H  \  E  \  R  \  E  I 

here  S-c. 

( N  o  T  K )— This  Translation  from  Spedding,  Ellis  &  Heath  Ed. 


(REPRODUCTION.) 

Epistle. 

Jn  all  duty  or  rather  piety  towards  yon,  I  satisfy 
everybody  except  myself.  zMyself  J  never  satisfy. 
For  so  great  are  the  services  which  you  have  rendered 
me,  that,  seeing  you  did  not  rest  in  your  endeavours 
on  my  behalf  till  the  thing  was  done,  y  feel  as  if  life 
had  lost  all  its  sweetness,  beca^ise  J  cannot  do  as 
much  in  this  cause  of  yours.  The  occasions  are  these: 
^mmonius,  the  kin^s  ambassador^  openly  besieges  us 
with  money.  The  business  is  carried  on  through  the 
same  creditors  who  were  employed  in  it  when  you. 

were  here  &'C. 

Cipher  infolded. 

Ml  is  bst.  zMindarus  is  killed..  The  soldiers 
want  food.  We  can  neither  get  hence  nor  stay  longer 
here.  • 

The  knowledge  of  Cyphering,  hath  drawne  on  with  it 
a  knowledge  relative  unto  it,  which  is  the  knowledge 
of  Difcyphering,  or  of  Difcreting  Cyphers,  though  a  man 
were  utterly  ignorant  of  the  Alphabet  of  the  Cypher, 
and  the  Capitulations  of  fecrecy  paft  between  the 
Parties.  Certainly  it  is  an  Art  which  requires  great 
paines  and  a  good  witt  and  is  [as  the  other  was] 
confecrate  to  the  Counfels  of  Princes:  yet  notwith- 
ftanding  by  diligent  previfion  it  may  be  made  un- 
profitable, though,  as  things  are,  it  be  of  great  ufe. 
For  if  good  and  faithfull  Cyphers  were  invented  & 
practifed,  many  of  them  would  delude  and  foreftall 
all  the  Cunning  of  the  Decypherer,  which  yet  are  very 
apt  and  eafie  to  be  read  or  written:  but  the  rawneffe 
and  unskilfulneffe  of  Secretaries^  and  Clarks  in  the 
Courts  of  Princes,  is  fuch,  that  many  times  the 
greateft  matters  are  committed  to  futile  and  weake 
Cyphers. 


FRANCISCI  • 

BARONI  S 

DE    VERVLAMIO, 

VICE-COMITIS 

SANCTI    ALBANI. 
DE  DIG  NIT  ATE  ET  JVGMENTJS 

SClENTlAEfM. 

L   I  B  R  I     IX. 
^  D    KEG  E  M    S  y  r  M 


luxta  Exemplar  Londini  Ittipreflum. 

P  A  R  I  S  I  I  S, 

Typis Petri    Mettayer /Typographi KV^y 

"  M.  DC.  XXIV. 


3^^  DeJugmemti  Sciemiarum. 

tumtnodo  Litcras  fojuantur  ,;  per  TranfpoCtioncm 
.carum.  Nam  Tranfpofitio  Juarum  Literarum  ,  per 
Locprquinquc,  Differcntiis-triginca  duabus,  multd 
magis  viginti  quatuor  (  qui  eft  Numtrus  Jlphd- 
ienzpud nos )  lufficict.  Huius  JUfhaheti  Excmpluiu 
tale  cit» 


Jic 


Excmplum  iyflphabetiSiluerArij, 

aaaa  . aaaap.  cadPa.aaabb.aapaa.  aabap^ 

L  %     iT    ^    <>  ^ 

Mpaa.abSap  .appm  MPpfpJaaaOrJaraaS* 

"^     V     TX>     00    y     s: ' 

paaSii.PMfp^SaSaa  'PaPOP.Saf^aJaSSf 

Nequc  leucqiiiddam  obiter  hoc  jnodo  pei;fedum 
cftiEtenim  ex  hoc  ipfopatet  Modus ,  quoadoinnem 
Loci  Diftantianijper  Obic(3:a>quaE  vcl  Vi(ui,vcl  Audi- 
tui  fubijci  poflint,Scnfa  Animi  proferre,  &  fignificarc 
liceat :  fi  modo  Obicda  illa,duplicis  tantum  Differen- 
tia capaciafiint,veluti  per  Campanas  ,  per  Buccinas, 
per  Flammeos,pet  SonitusTormcntorum,&  alia  quf^ 
cunque.  VerumvtlncoepEumperfequamur^cum  ad 
Scribendum  accingoris ,  Epiftolam  intcriorem  vcisAlr 
fhiihettimhoc'SiiuerammColMts;  Sit  cpiftolaintcrior* 


Excinplunl  SolmlonU. 

Jidid^  pddpp^    ddLUPd^    cidPCLd^ 

Pr«ft6  fimul  fit  aliud  Jphal?etum  Biforme ,  nimirutru 
quod  fingulas  jdlpbabeti  Communis  Literas ,  tarn  Capi- 
taici;,quatn  mirtores^duplici  Forma ,  prout  cuiq  j  com- . 
modum^fit  cxhibeat 

Exemplum  jilfhaietiBifdrmls^ 

JH(Lner%  ie  ^crlo    cLontc  ^oen£n 

Turn  demum  Epiftolx  Interiori^  iam  fadae  Billterdt^^ 
Epiftolam  Exteriorcm  Biformemy  literatim  accommo- 
dabis,&  poftea  defcribes.  Sit  Epiftola  Exterior  j 
Mdncic  te  ^olo  donee  yenero* 
'Excrxi^lxxrxiAccommoddtionk, 

^        0     o>      ^    s^    s 

paapaScm,  lafm^  icSd.  bdppa.  pM^, 

Appofuimus  ctiam  Exemplum  aliud  largius  eiuf* 
dem  Ciphrx ,  Scrlhendi  Omnia  per  Omnia. 
Epiftola  Interior ,  ad  quam  dolegimus  Epiftolam 

S^artanam ,  miflam  olim  in  Scy  talc, 
VerdiU  ^R^s.  Q:^indarf4^  cecidit  C:^Hites  eju- 
rinnP,  J^^qut  hincnos  extricare,  neque 
hkdiutiks  mancrefojpimtis, 

Qj   ij 


jo8  D  e  lAH^menw  ScteHtlarum, 

J.^a.A'^^.^.Q.  C'«  Mil. 

a-  P'C^^y*  ^*  p*  a.A  n*  p»  ap  a.  La^b* 

%.%.c.t.t^jj.54^.^j{m/^. 

a.  pdJ^  *•  A  a.  5'  cir*  /•  d^  A  cu^  p.cl.  /. 


P  -<t»p»<l,p.^p,Xl*  P'Cl^*P^Cl<*  PnH'P^C'P 


IpiftoIaExtcrior  ^  fumpta  ex  EpiftolaPr/;^^  Cfaroni^y 


I 


LihrSext^.  309 

Qfffo- mn\  mioio,  acjoilusjidnU  enxix; 

dttOM saiufaao-  ^ania.  tsi emmmajni= 
tttio  iuinntMr  erca,  mz  mmivrnm^yiyuonv 
<m  ill.  nuittmcta.re,  dtmtwm  amjlUiS- 

titanutiiS,  esst  accmtmpiHni .  MCdU- 


.w  «-*-      ^ 


Vtreosdtin  ctcdlhre^  pcraucfs.  cmnhiddU 
pi  Pmnf^jtiija  miisttnfffmnes  aJMm/£z 
^tonu-  cammniain  non  rclLicnc^  sic/ina:^ 


PARS  SECVNDA  OPERIS, 

Q^AE    DICITVR 

NOVVM  ORGAN  VM, 

S  I  V  E 

INDICIA  VERA 

T)E  I3^TE%T%JETATI0  3^E 
3^ATV%M 


VEEST  TA%S  T'RIMA 

INSTAVRATIONIS, 

QFjE  QOMTLECTITV'R^ 

PARTITIONES   SCIENTIARVM. 

Ilia  tamen  ex  Secmdo  Libro  de  Progrcf- 

fibus  facfendis  in  Dodlrina  Di- 

uina  &  Humana ,  nonmU 

l(U  ex  parte  feti 

fofunt. 


INSTVARATIONISs 

ilf^    A%TSM    ITSAM 

Interpretandi  V^turam^^  iperiorts  adoperatio^ 

nis  IntelleSus  exhibet :  neque  earn  ipfam 

tamen  in  Corpore  traBatm  iujli; 

Jed  tantum  digeftam  per 

fummas^in  Apba^ 

rifmos. 


PRAE.FA- 


FRANCISCI 

BARONIS 

VERVLAMIO, 

VICE-COMITIS 

S  AN  CT  1    AlBANI, 

Hiftoria  Vita  6c  <ifMonis. 

S  I  V  E> 

TITVLVS     SECVNDVS 

jnHiftoriaNaturali  &  Experimencali 

ad  con^endam  PhUofbphiam : 

Quyeft 

INSTaFQ^aTIOHIS  MAGTi^ 

PARS   TERTIA. 


i'tZt^^'^' 


L  O  N  D  X  M  I, 

In  Officinal  o.  H  a  v  i  l  a  n.d,  impenfis 
Matthaei  Lownes.  1625. 


The  fif  ft  pare 

Ofthetrue&hono 

rable  hiftory^of  the  Life  of 

Sir  lohn  Old^caflle,  the  good 
Lord  Cobham. 

Js  it  hath  bene  lately  a^edby  the  ^ight 
honorable  the  Earle  of^J^tingham 
Lord  High  t^dmirallqf  England, 
his  Seruantu 

Written  by  William  Shakcfpcare. 


LondonprintedforT.Ti 

i6oo* 


TM: 


LONDON 

ProdigalL 

As  ic  was  plaide  by  the  Kings  Maic- 
fliesferuancs. 

^f^yittimShake/peare, 


LONDON. 

Vimxc^hyl^'CJotNathaifklmter,  ted 

arctobc  fold  ncere-J.  t^fiitts&xc, 

at  the  figncof  the  pydeBuD. 


A 

YORKSHIRE 

TRAGEDIE. 

^otfo  ^^(etP,  as  Lamentable 
and  True. 

Written  byW.SHAKESPEARE. 


Printed  for  T.  T.    i6l9. 


FRANCIS  BACON'S 


Bi-LITERAL  CIPHER 


THE  DECIPHERED  SECRET  STORY 

From  Original  Editions  in  British  Museum 
I  ^yg  to  i^QO. 


PUBLISHERS'  NOTE. 

THIRD   EDITION. 

The  publication  of  the  second  edition  of  the  Bi-literal 
Cypher  of  Francis  Bacon,  which  embraced  the  period  of  his 
Cipher  writing  between  1590  and  the  end  of  his  career, 
emphasized  the  importance  of  finding  the  earlier  writings 
— preceding  1590,  The  old  books  necessary  to  the  re- 
search could  not  be  procured  in  America,  and  during  the 
summer  of  1900  Mrs.  Gallup  and  her  assistant,  Miss  Kate 
E.  Wells,  visited  England  to  carry  on  the  work  in  that 
treasure  house  of  early  literature,  the  British  Museum. 
The  investigations  yielded  rich  returns,  for  in  Shepheard's 
Calender  of  1579  was  found  the  commencement  of  what 
proved  to  be  an  important  part  of  Bacon's  life  work. 

Following  Shepheard's  Calender,  the  works  between 
1579  and  1590,  so  far  deciphered,  are: 

Araygnement  of  Paris,  1584;  Mirrour  of  Modestie, 
1584. 

Planetomachia,  1585. 

Treatise  of  Melancholy,  1586.  Two  editions  of  this 
were  issued  the  same  year,  with  diifering  Italics.  The  first 
ends  with  an  incomplete  cipher  w^ord  which  is  completed  in 
the  second  for  the  continued  narration,  thus  making  evident 
which  was  first  published,  unless  they  were  published  at 
the  same  time. 

Euphues,  1587;  Morando,  1587.  These  two  also  join 
together,  with  an  incomplete  word  at  the  end  of  the  first 
finding  its  completion  in  the  commencement  of  the  Cipher 
in  the  second. 

Perimedes  the  Blacke-smith,  1588 ;  Pandosto,  1588. 
These  two  also  join  together. 


Spanish  Masquerado,  1589.  Two  editions  of  this  work 
bear  date  the  same  year,  but  have  different  Italicising.  In 
one  edition  the  Cipher  Story  is  complete,  closing  with  the 
signature:  "Fr.,  Prince."  In  the  other  the  story  is  not 
complete,  the  book  ending  with  an  incomplete  cipher  word, 
the  remainder  of  which  will  be  found  in  some  work  of  a 
near  date  which  has  not  yet  been  indicated. 

Several  months  were  spent  in  following,  through  these 
old  books,  the  thread  of  the  concealed  story  until  it  joined 
the  work  which  had  already  been  published.  Overstrained 
eye-sight,  from  the  close  study  of  the  different  forms  of 
Italic  letters,  and  consequent  exhaustion  on  the  part  of 
Mrs.  Gallup,  compelled  a  cessation  of  the  work  before  all 
that  would  have  been  desirable  to  know  concerning  that 
early  period  was  deciphered ;  and  while  these  are  not  all  the 
works  in  which  Cipher  will  be  found,  between  the  years 
1579  and  1590,  they  are  sufficient  unmistakably  to  connect 
the  earlier  writings  with  those  of  later  date  which  had 
already  been  deciphered — as  published  in  the  Bi-literal 
Cypher — so  that  we  now  "know  the  Cipher  writings  were 
being  continuously  infolded  in  Bacon's  works,  for  a  period 
of  about  forty-six  years,  from  the  first  to  the  last  of  his  lit- 
erary productions,  including  some  matter  he  had  prepared, 
which  was  published  by  Rawley  subsequent  to  1626. 

These  few  pages  of  deciphered  matter,  now  added  to  that 
published  in  the  Second  Edition,  have  a  unique  distinction 
in  the  costliness  of  their  production,  but  they  are  of  ines- 
timable value,  historically,  as  well  as  from  a  literary  point 
of  view,  in  demonstrating  with  certainty  the  scope  and 
completeness  of  the  Cipher  plan  which  has  so  long  hidden 
the  secrets  of  a  most  eventful  period. 


77 


yEtatis  sues  Id- 
2^78. 


FEAXCIS  BACON'S  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER. 


SHEPHEARD'S  CALENDER.     1579. 

DEDICATION  BY   "E.   K."  1579. 
ATTRIBUTED   TO    ED.   SPENSER,    1611. 

E.  K.  wil  bee  found  to  be  nothing  lesse  then  th'  letters 
signifying  th'  future  sov'raigne,  or  England's  King. 
Th'  present  Queene,  purely  selfish  in  all  that  doth  in  a 
sorte  make  for  proper,  tho'  tardie  recognition  of  that  true 
prerogative  of  roiale  bloud,  dofh  most  boldly  and  co'sta'tly 
oppose  with  h'r  argume'ts  th'  puny  eifort  in  our  cause 
which  hath  most  disprov'd  abilitie  to  uphold  our  true  and 
rightful  (but  at  this  present  time,  very  little  scene  or  onely 
partlie  ghest)  clayme  to  roiall  pow'r.  In  event  o'  death  of 
her  Ma. — who  bore  in  honourable  wedlocke  Robert,  now 
known  as  sonne  to  Walter  Devereux,  as  wel  as  him  who  now 
speaketh  to  th'  yet  unknowne  aidant  discypherer  that  wil 
open  the  dores  of  the  sepulcher  to  break  in  sunder  the  bonds 
and  cerementes  of  a  marvaillous  historic, — we  the  eldest 
borne,  should,  by  the  Divine  right  of  a  lawe  of  God  made 
binding  on  man,  inherit  scepter  and  thron'. 

Lest  most  vilde  historic  have  no  penne  so  bolde  as  to 
write  out  some  daungerous  matter'  that  have  of  late  beene 
layd  bare  to  us,  we  have  made'  search  for  anie  such  secret 
mode  of  transmission  as  might  conceale  this  whollie,  yet  in 
time,  or  it  may  chance  ere  long,  chose  the  readers.  Fayling 
in  this,  as  all  our  existing  meanes  have  alwaie  [a]  like  sorte 
of  keie  held  by  each  interpreter,  wee  devis'd  two  Cyphars 
now  us'd  for  th'  first  time,  for  this  saide  secret  historic,  as 
cleere,   safe,   and  undecipherable, — whilst  containing  th' 

79 


80  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

keyes  in  each  which  open  the  most  important, — as  anie 
device  that  witholdeth  th'  same.  Till  a  discypherer  finde 
a  prepar'd,  or  readily  discover'd,  alphabet,  it  semeth  to  us 
a  thing  alhiost  impossible,  save  by  Divine  gift  and  heavenly 
instinct,  that  he  should  bee  able  to  read  what  is  thus 
reveal' d. 

It  may,  percha'ce,  remaine  in  hiding  untill  a  future 
people  furnish  wittes  keener  then  these  of  our  owne  times 
to  open  this  heavilie  barred  entrance-way  and  enter  the 
house  of  treasure.  Yet  are  we  in  hourly  terror  least  th' 
Queene,  our  enemie  at  present,  altho'  likewise  our  mother, 
be  cognisant  of  our  invention.  It  is  for  good  cause,  there- 
fore, that  our  worst  feares  cling  to  us  so  consta'tly  that  our 
intention  is  alter'd,  and  the  cheefe  Cyphar  be  not  heerein 
set  forth  in  such  manner  as  was  meant. 

PR.  B. 


THE  AKAYGNEMENT  OF  PAEIS.     1584. 

GEORGj:  PEELB. 

By  usi'g  our  Word  Cyphar  heere,  otir  labours  are 
greatlie  increast.  Wittes  must  be  keen  in  a  like  search — 
waiting  also,  at  other  seasons,  as  a  warie  mind  must  oft  to 
get  th'  game,  yet  making  noe  noyse  in  his  rejoyci'g  over  th' 
great  discoverie.  Wee  w^rite  in  this  constant  dread  least 
our  secret  history  may  be  found  and  sette  out  ere  we  be 
safe  ev'n  fro'  th'  butcher's  deadlie  axe,  and  make  manie  a 
shift  sodainely  for  saftie.  Be  not  then  caste  downe  if  there 
be  much  that  is  promist  you  for  which  you  shal  long  hunt 
vainlie,  since  we  have  so  oft  bene  seyzed  with  violent  feare 
of  that  which  might  arise  thence.  The',  manifold  times, 
our  tho'ght  sodainely  changeth  answer  therto.  But  it  wil 
in  due  time  bee  related  wholly.     Safety  should  arise,  no 


IN  THE  ARAYGNEMENT  OF  PARIS.  81 

lesse  then  knowledge,  from  time's  passage.     Our  mother 
^an  hardly  be  immortall. 

It  is  also  true  that  increast  writi'gs  greatlie  lessen  our 
chaunces  of  losse ;  for  when  portions  are  widelie  scattered, 
as  herein,  most  shal  see  but  Latine  and  Greeke  in  diverbs 
of  rare  worth,  nor  see  our  free  use  of  great  Virgill's  vers', 
translated  in  the  schools,  and  the  more  wondrous  Homer,' 
his  poemes.  Their  eies  rest  on  our  Cyphar,  yet  to  divulge 
th'  secret  is  not  in  th'  power  of  any  that  live  at  present ;  for 
it  is  yet  in  meere  infancy  and  none  recognise  th'  forme  and 
features  that  it  is  at  length,  wee  doubt  not,  to  donne,  as  it 
commeth  to  height  of  developed  body. 

In  sorrowe  we  set  wordes  herein:  we  know  not  their 
fate  nor  ours  in  a  future  near  or  farr,  for  we  are  in  truth 
th'  luckles  Prince  of  Wales,  whome,  alas,  wit  no  way  o'  safe 
escape  hath  taughte,  if  it  bee  not  in  hiding  wel  our  mar- 
vaillous  storie,  in  order  to  communicate  it  to  some  distant 
friends,  whose  loialtie — to  princes  of  a  rank  such  as  ours — 
may  serve,  at  God's  morn  of  aidance,  as  e'eourageme't.  By 
uniting  many  pow'res — such  lofty  endevou'  for  perfect- 
ing th'  knowledge  that  is  in  the  world,  joined  also  with  a 
strife  for  th'  elevation,  in  all  kingdoms  under  heaven,  of 
this  whole  people — ^th'  Divine  wil  or  planne  doth  perchance 
have  full  swaie:  for  when  mankinde  shall  bee  given  wise- 
dome  in  so  great  fuUnes,  idle  courtiers  may  find  no  true 
use  of  subtile  arts.  We  ourself  hate,  with  princely  hatred, 
artes  now  exercised  to  keepe  th'  vanitie  of  our  regall  parent 
glowing  like  fire,  for  God  hath  laid  on  that  head  a  richer 
crowne  then  this  diademe  upo'  her  brow,  yet  wil  she  not 
displaie  it  before  all  eies.  It  is  th'  rich  crowne  of  mothe'- 
hoode.     Our  true  title  is 

PR.  OF  WALES. 


82  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON 

THE  MIKEOUE  OF  MODESTIE.     1584. 

ROBERT  GREENE. 

For  our  latest  booke,  it  will,  at  first,  seeme  probable 
to  our  disciph'rer,  one  part  doth  lacke  bere — a  part  that 
had  created,  as  it  were,  some  secret  world  into  which  the 
unseing  can  by  noe  meanes  e'ter.  Our  discoverer,  whose 
sight  lookt  through  all  th'  disguises,  hath  bin  fro'  th'  first 
familiar  with  a  most  secret,  as  it  is  most  dangerous,  con- 
fession that  is  so  framed  it  hinteth  th'  strange  things  it 
would  relate,  hath  also  scene  in  these  letters  two  kinds 
necessarie  to  the  Cypher,  and  will  teach  this  discipherer 
our  designe, — wee  having  invented  two  excellent  waies  of 
co'cealing  in  our  workes  a  secret  so  dangerous  it  would  at 
once  cost  life,  fame,  fortu'e — all  that  wee  hold  deare. 

We  are  firstborne  to  th'  soe-called  virgin  that  gov- 
erneth  our  realme,  Queene  Elizabeth.  In  event  of  the 
abdication  or  death  of  the  Queene,  wee  this  sonne, — 
Francis,  Prince  of  Wales, — inherit  this  throne  and  this 
crowne,  and  our  land  shall  rejoice,  for  it  shall  have  a  wise 
soveraigne.  God  e'dued  us  with  wisedome,  th'  gift  granted 
in  answer  to  Salomon's  prayers.  It  is  not  in  us  aught 
unmeet  or  headie-rash  to  say  this,  for  our  Creatour  onlie  is 
prais'd.  None  will  charge  here  manifestation  of  worldly 
vanitie,  for  it  is  but  th'  pride  naturall  to  mindes  such  as 
we  injoye,  indeed,  fn  common  with  all  youthfuU  roial 
pri'ces.  If  it  should  bee  wanting,  then  might  all  men  saye 
wee  lack'd  th'  very  essence  of  a  roiall  or  a  ruling  spirit,  or 
judge  that  we  were  unfit  to  raigne  over  mightie  England.  It 
is  onely  one  of  our  happie  dreemes  of  a  day  to  come,  that 
doth  draw  us  on  to  build  upon  this  grou'd,  inasmuch  as  it 
shall  be  long,  perhaps, — if  soe  bright  a  daye  dawne, — ere  we 
shal  bask  in  his  sunny  rayes.     Even  now,  th'  mother  who 


IN  THE  MIRROUR  OF  MODESTIE.  83 

might  proclayme  our  succession  doth  scarcely  keep  us  in 
her  imployment.  At  no  time  doth  a  love  for  her  two  sonnes 
so  move  her,  as  to  lead  her,  a  queene  by  inherited  right,  to 
do  as  her  roiall  pare't  had  providently  done,  or  to  declare 
the  succession  should  be  to  her  right  heyres  by  a  just  union 
with  that  wel  markt  sutour,  Robert  D. 

Fine  mindes  as  ours  cannot  suffer  this  fortune  without 
making  anie  attempte  to  recover  by  skillfull  meanes  th' 
fame,  if  not  th'  honour,  which  unkind  fates  have  taken  away 
from  us.  Wee  fain  would  write  workes  most  lofty  in  their 
style,  which,  being  suited  as  well  to -representation  upon  th' 
stage  as  to  bee  read  in  libraries,  may  soe  go  foorth  and  so 
re'ch  nianie  in  th'  land  not  as  wise,  mayhap,  in  knowledge, 
yet  as  great  as  others  in  loialtie  and  in  fierie  spirit.  If  that 
deficiency  be  in  a  measure  filled  in  our  realme,  this  labour 
in  coming  yeeres  wil  surely  bee  of  benefit,  although  it  bee 
unknowne  for  a  long  season  what  is  the  cause  and  ultimate 
designe,  and,  in  the  end,  our  new  inventio'  wil  excell  this 
as  a  mode  of  transmitting  all  matters  of  a  secret  or  delicat' 
nature.  It  requyreth  more  time  in  preparation,  since  pains 
must  necessarilie  be  used  least  the  keyes  bee  lost  in  giving 
the  parts  locatio'  that  altereth  th'  sense.  As  naught  else 
was  intended  when  our  original  designe  was  fourm'd, — a 
change  of  that  which  shal  bee  imparted  in  this  way, — the 
hidden  epistle  thus  safely  preserv'd  from  th'  wrackes  of 
time's  floode,  can  bee  understood  as  importa't  to  our  people 
of  Brittain,  even  as  to  us,  for  'tis  their  own  roiall  Prince, 
who,  sufferi'g  such  wrongs,^  can  patie'tlie  heare  th'  silent 
houres  noe  longer,  though  life  should  ever  hang  in  the  bal- 
ance for  th'  rashnesse. 

One  thing  doth  somewhat  encourage  our  young  faith 
in  enjoyment  heereaf  ter  of  our  kingdo'e ;  that  is,  our  advice 
from  a  friend  whose  wise  counsaile  hath  long  bin  aidante 
and  comforting.  It  is  to  this  effect :  That  in  age  is  a  sense 
of  dutie  most  felt,  as  is  made  plaine  in  freque't  marked 


84  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON 

examples  of  tardie  restorations — late  in  life — many 
examples  of  a  deathbed  arousing  a  man,  his  dormant  con- 
science, to  such  sense  of  justice,  that  all  wrong,  i'  his  power 
to  see  rectified,  in  wisedo'e  have  beene  righted.  Wee  there- 
fore have  beene  in  hope  of  our  winni'g  this  inherita'ce  in 
due  time.  We  know  how  wearie,  ever,  is  hope  deferr'd. 
In  th'  Holy  Booke  of  th'  Scripture  it  saith :  "Hope  deferr'd 
maketh  the  heart  sicke." 

Bee  not,  however,  of  opinion  our  hope  is  immediately 
to  become  England's  King.  Wee  request  but  our  naturall 
right:  that  we  be  declar'd  the  true  heyre  as  the  first  borne 
son  to  our  Queene,  borne  to  her  in  honourable  marriage 
with  Robert  D. ;  the  Prince  o'  Wales  whyles  our  parent  be 
livi'g,  but  the  propper  souveraigne  with  name  and  stile 
quite  disstinct  fro'  others — English  kings  having  soe  farre 
had  no  Francis  on  th'  scrowl  that  co'tayneth  their  worthy 
Christian  names — in  proper  course  o'  time,  as  other  that 
were  princes  have  had  fortune  before  this  in  our  realm. 

Th'  earliest  shews  of  favour  of  this  roial  mother,  as 
patronesse  rather  than  parent,  were  scene  when  she  hon- 
or'd  our  roofe  so  farre  as  to  become  th'  guest  of  goode  Sir 
ISTicholas  Bacon — that  kinde  man  wee  suppos'd  our  father 
then,  as  well  wee  might,  for  his  unchangeable  gentle  kind- 
nesse,  his  consta't  carefullnesse  for  our  honour,  our  safetie, 
and  true  advancement.  These  become  marked  as  th'  studie 
that  wee  pursew'd  did  make  our  tong  sharp  to  replie  when 
shee  asked  us  a  perplexing  question,  never,  or  at  least 
seldome,  lacking  Greeke  epigram  to  fit  those  shee  quoted, 
and  wee  were  ofte  bro't  into  her  gracious  presence.  It 
liveth,  as  do  dreemes  of  yesternight,  when  now  wee  close 
our  eies — the  statelie  moveme'ts,  grace  of  speech,  quick 
smile  and  sodaine  anger,  that  oft,  as  April  cloudes  come 
acros  the  sunne  yet  as  sodainly  are  withdrawn,  fill'd  us 
with  succeeding  dismay,  or  brim'd  our  cup  immediately 
with  joy. 


IN  THE  MIRROUR  OF  MODESTIE.  85 

It  doth  as  of  te  recur  that  th'  Queene,  our  roiall  mother, 
sometimes  said  in  Sir  Xicholas'  eare  on  going  to  her  coach : 
"Have  him  wel  instructed  in  knowledge  that  future  station 
shal  make  necessary."  I^aturally  quick  of  hearing,  it 
reaching  our  eares  was  caught  o'  th'  wing,  and  long  turned 
and  pondered  upon,  but  we  found  no  meaning,  for  all  our 
witte,  no  whisp'red  woorde  having  passed  th'  lippes  of  noble 
Sir  l^icholas  on  the  matter.  It  was  therefore  long  ere  we' 
knew  our  birth  roial,  and  th'  fond  love  of  both  foster 
parentes  was  restrainte  and  staye  to  our  young  spirit  when 
the  wild  and  fierie  tempest  sodainelie  brast  upo'  us.  This 
dread  force  would  otherwise  have  ruined,  wasted  and  borne 
us  adrift  like  a  despoil'd  harvest. 

In  course  of  time,  in  a  horrible  passio'  of  witles  wrath, 
th'  revelation  was  thus  flasht,  like  as  lightning,  upon  us  by 
our  proude  roial  parent  herself  e.  We  were  in  prese'ce — as 
had  manie  and  oftentimes  occurr'd,  Que.  E.  havi'g  a  liking 
of  our  manners — with  a  nomber  o'  th'  ladies  and  severall  of 
the  gentlemen  of  her  court,  when  a  seely  young  maiden 
babied  a  tale  Cecill,  knowing  her  weakeness,  had  whispered 
in  her  eare.  A  daungerous  tidbit  it  was,  but  it  well  did 
satisfy  th'  malicious  soule  of  a  tale-bearer  such  as  R.  Cecill, 
that  concern'd  not  her  associate  ladies  at  all,  but  th'  honour, 
the  honesty  of  Queene  Elizabeth.  Xoe  sooner  breath'd 
aloude  then  it  was  hearde  by  the  Queene,  noe  more,  in 
truth,  then  halfe  hearde  then  'twas  avenged  by  th'  enraged 
Queene.  Kever  had  we  scene  fury  soe  terrible,  and  it  was 
some  time  that  wee  remayned  in  silent,  horror-strook  dis- 
maye,  at  the  fiery  overwhelming  tempest.  At  last — when 
stript  of  al  her  fraile  attire,  the  poor  maid  in  frightened 
remors'  lay  quivering  at  Queene  Elizabethes  feet,  almost 
depriv'd  o'  breath,  stil  feeblie  begging  that  her  life  be 
spar'd  nor  ceasi'g  for  a  mome't  till  sense  was  lost — ^no 
longer  might  we  looke  upon  this  in  silence ;  and  bursting 
like  fulmin'd  lightning  through  the  waiting  crowde  of  the 


86  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON 

astonished  courtiers  and  ladies,  surrou'ding  in  a  widening 
circle  this  angry  Fury  and  her  prey,  wee  bent  a  knee  cravi'g 
that  wee  might  lif  te  up  the  tender  bodie  and  bear  it  thence. 
A  dread  sile'ce  that  foretels  a  storm  fell  on  the  Queene  for 
a  space,  as  th'  cruell  light  waxed  brighter  and  th'  cheeke 
burnt  as,  th'  flame.  As  the  fire  grew  to  blasti'g  heat,  it  fell 
upon  us  like  the  bolt  of  Jove.  Losing  controll  immediatelie ' 
of  both  judgement  and  discretion,  th'  secrets  of  her  heart 
came  hurtling  forth,  stunning  and  blasting  the  sense,  till 
we  wanted  but  a  jot  of  swooning  likewise.  Not  onely  did 
wee  believe  ourselfe  to  be  base,  but  also  wee  beleeved  the 
angry  reproaches  of  such  kinde  as  never  can  bee  cleared 
awaie,  for  she  declar'd  us  to  be  the  fruit  of  a  union  of  the 
sorte  that  is  oft  lustfull  and  lascivious — the  secret ;  and  in 
suppressing  th'  name  of  our  father,  she  did  in  very  truth 
give  us  reaso'  to  f  eare  the  blot  of  which  we  speake. 

When,  however,  Ladie  Anne  Bacon,  hearing  th'  tale 
which  wee  tolde,  made  free  and  full  relation  how  this  secret 
marriage  with  th'  Earle,  our  fonde  sire, — whom  we  knew 
little  and  lov'd  not  more  then  was  due, — was  consumated, 
it  greatlie  excited  our  imagination,  so  that  we  wrote  it 
downe  in  a  varietie  of  formes,  and  intende  the  use,  both  as 
one  part  of  her  history  relating  closelie  to  our  owne,  and  as 
suited  to  representative  historic  that  may  bee  acted  on  our 
stage. 

The  preparatio'  that  must  naturallie  be  made,  can  bee 
wel  understood  to  be  much  greater,  inasmuch  as  it  must  be 
secret  as  the  grave ;  but  it  can  yet  bee  accomplish'd,  if  time 
be  granted  to  carrie  out  our  Cyphars  as  devis'd,  Seeke,  in 
th'  kind  of  letters  now  us'd,  for  one  more  secret  storie :  after 
disciph'ring  the  same,  then  look  onely  to  the  Italicke 
pri'ting. 

P. 


PLA]^ETOMACHIA.     1585. 

ROBERT   GREENE. 

With  great  and  patie't  perseverance,  unending,  resolute 
labour,  such  as  you  shall  also  shew  at  eventide  and  at  morne 
if  you  winne  lawrells, — or  finde  a  cyphar  none  will  have 
the  honour  or  th'  favour  to  employ,  asuredlie,  for  a  short 
periode, — this  work  is  dutifully  persued  for  our  advance- 
me't.  As  all  may  know,  in  time,  the  reason  why  'tis  yet 
hidden  history  of  our  present  time  and  a  time  not  very  far 
fro'  th'  present,  doubt  not,  our  title  to  England's  throne 
must  soone  bee  known. 

Althoug'  a  life,  no  other  then  our  mother's,  removi'g 
our  naturall  claym  yet  another  degre,  must  keepe  us  still 
subject  to  the  uncertaine  duratio'  as  well  as  the  fortune  of 
one  other  being  beside  our  owne  selfe,  we  have  faith  in  our 
sire,  who,  whilst  now  hee  loveth  his  peace,  and  quiet  enjoie- 
ment  of  th'  roiall  kindnese  spe  much  no  love  of  his  offspring 
is  manifest,  hath  in  his  naturall  spirit  that  which  yet  might 
leade  to  a  matching  of  a  roiall  spouse  'gainst  the  princes, 
that  a  ballance  may  be  maintayned.  Hee  is,  it  wil  no 
doubt  bee  remembered,  the  Lord  Robert  Dudley,  Earle  of 
Leister,  whom  our  historic  so  oft  nameth.  Hee  who  beareth 
likewise  the  titles  of  Baron  of  Denbigh,  Master  of  th' 
Queene's  Majestie's  Horse (s),  of  th'  Order  of  th'  Garter, 
her  Highnesse'  Privie  Councilour,  et  castera,  in  affec- 
tio'  nor  in  honours  no  way*doth  see  a  lacke  on  the  part  of  a 
woman,  who,  in  ascending  the  English  throne,  did,  like  a 
common  mayden  of  her  realme,  hide  those  secret  counsells 
in  her  owne  f aire  bosome.  Aye,  few  ghest  that  her  suitour 
was  her  wedded  lord. 

In  truth,  had  not  our  farre  seeing  sire  exercised  more 
then  the  degree  that  was  his  wont,  or  his  privilege,  of  au- 

87 


88  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON 

thoritie,  Elizabeth  had  rested  contente  with  th'  marriage 
ceremony  perf orm'd  in  the  Tower,  and  would  not  have 
asked  for  regall,  or  even  noble  pompe — with  attendants  and 
witnesses;  nor  would  she  have  wish'd  for  more  state,  be- 
cause being  quite  bent  upon  secrecy,  she  with  no  want  of 
justice  contended,  "The  fewer  eyes  to  witnesse,  the  fewer 
tongues  to  testify  to  that  which  had  beene  done." 

As  hath  beene  said,  Earle  of  Leicester  then  foresaw 
the  daye  when  he  might  require  the  power  this  might  grant 
him,  and  no  doubt  this  proved  true,  altho'  we,  th'  first- 
bome  Sonne  of  the  secret  union,  have  profited  by  no  meanes 
therfrom, — since  we  unfortunately  incurr'd  his  great  and 
most  rancourous  ill  will,  many  yeares  backe.  As  you  no 
doubt  are  cognisant  of  our  summarie  banishment  to  beau- 
tifuU  France,  which  did  intend  our  correction  but  oped  to 
us  the  gates  of  Paradise,  you  know  that  our  sire,  more  ev'n 
then  our  roiall  mother,  was  bent  upon  our  dispatch  thither, 
and  urg'd  vehemently  that  subseque't,  artfullie  contriv'd 
business — concerning  affaires  of  state — intrusted  to  us  in 
much  th'  same  manner,  we  thought,  as  waighty  affaires 
were  laid  upon  Sir  Amyas,  with  whom  they  sent  us  to  th' 
French  Court. 

By  some  strange  Providence,  this  served  well  the  pur- 
poses of  our  owne  heart ;  for,  making  cyphares  our  choyse, 
we  straightway  proceeded  to  spend  our  greatest  labours 
therein,  to  find  a  methode  of  secret  communication  of  our 
historic  to  others  outside  the  realme.  That,  however,  drew 
noe  suspition  upon  this  device,  inasmuch  as  it  did  appeare 
quite  naturall  to  one  who  was  in  companie  and  under  the 
instruction  of  our  ambassadour  to  the  Court  o'  France ;  and 
it  seemed,  on  th'  part  of  our  parents,  to  afford  peculiar 
relief,  as  shewing  that  our  spirit  and  minde  had  calmed,  as 
the  ocean  after  a  tempest  doth  sinke  into  a  sweete  rest,  nor 
gives  a  signe  of  th'  shippewracke  belowe  the  gently  rolli'g 
surface. 


IN  PLANETOMACHIA.  89 

For  such  simple  causes  were  we  undisturb'd  in  a 
search  after  a  meanes  of  transmitting  our  secret  history. 
Fayli'g  this — as  no  doubt  our  discypherer  doth  know,  ere 
nowe — ^we  devised  this  double  alphabet  Cyphar  which  with 
patience  may  be  discovered,  with  another  having  within 
the  body  the  keies  to  separate  it  into  parts,  that  it  may  be 
joined  by  our  la  we  and  come  forth  in  that  forme  which  first 
it  bore  under  our  hand.  Thus  shal  we  see  our  work  arise, 
as,  in  the  Judgement  Day,  the  soules  that  death  set  free  shall 
rise  again  in  their  celestiall  bodies,  such  as  they  were  first 
created,  or  as  they  existed  in  the  thought  of  God ;  and  as  the 
glory  of  the  terrestriall  is  different  from  th'  glorie  of  the 
celestiall,  so  the  beauties  of  the  one  shall  not  be  as  th'  other. 
It  hath  beene  our  practise,  from  th'  first  Cyphar  epistle  to 
th'  present  letter,  to  scatter  th'  history  widely,  having  great 
feare  alwaies  that  our  roiall  mother  may,  by  some  ill- 
chance,  come  upo'  the  matter,  and  our  life  bee  the  forfeit 
ere  half  this  labour  bee  ended.  Should  she  laje  hand  upon 
the  epistle,  no  eie  save  her  owne  would  evermore  read  this 
interiour  history.  Where  our  Cyphar  shiftes  with  sud- 
dennes,  our  decypherer  needeth  more  patience. 

FRA.  B. 


A  TREATISE  OF  MELANCHOLY.     1686. 

T.   BRIGHT. 

Verily,  to  make  choyse  of  mouthpeeces  for  our  voice, 
is  farre  fro'  being  a  light  or  pleasi'g,  but  quite  necessarie 
and  important,  missio' ;  and  it  oft  in  truth  swaloweth  all  we 
receive  from  our  writtings  ere  such  cost  be  paid.  None 
must  thinke,  however,  that  this  doth  moove  us  to  forego  th' 
worke.  Eather  would  a  slowly  approaching  death  bee 
desir'd,  or  haste'd  to  summo'  us  quicklie,  then  that  we  now 
weaken  in  our  great  undertaki'g  of  writing  out, — in  our 


90  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON 

secrete  but  playne  manner  of  transmitti'g, — our  history,  as 
hath  here  bene  sayd  in  our  other  Cyphar ;  also  a  most  full 
and  compleat  storie  of  this  so-styl'd  maiden  queene,  her 
marriage,  when  prisonner  at  the  Tower  at  command  o' 
Queene  Mary,  and  her  prior  mad  love  profess'd  for  Sey- 
mour, a  man  manie  a  yeare  elder  yet  not  greatly  wiser  then 
th'  willf  uU  princesse. 

The  early  piety,  that  manie  credulou'  men  attempt  to 
proove,  is  most  disprov'd  by  so  unnecessary  intemperance, 
wantonnesse,  and  over  vehemence  of  affection,  betrai'd 
towards  a  gentleman  olde  enough,  if  vertuoslie  inclined,  to 
guide  a  young  princesse  to  piety,  when  in  her  co'fide'ce, — 
for  sundry  thi'gs  come  with  experie'ce, — rather  the'  give 
her  greefe,  or  future  sorrow,  never  asswag'd  on  earth. 
Friendshippe  alone  should  binde  a  man's  mind  strongly, 
that  he  curbe  well  his  inordinate  concupiscence  and  sin. 

He,  by  disownei'g  the  child,  subjected  the  princely 
heart  to  ignominie,  and  co'pelled  Elizabeth  to  murder  this 
infant  at  the  very  first  slight  breath,  least  she  bee  openly 
sham'd  in  Court,  inasmuch  as  King  Edward  was  intoUer- 
ant  of  otheres  foibles,  whilst  partiall  to  his  owne. 

This  sad  narrative  is  in  the  other  Cyphar.  It  could  not 
bee  at  once  incorporated,  because  the  parts  should  not  bee 
plact  near  to  one  another.  It  must  be  quickly  scene,  there- 
fore, it  was  needfuU  to  commingle  manie  stories  in  one 
booke.  l^one  having  beene  finish'd  at  this*  time,  the  faith- 
full  decypherer  is  most  solemnlie  enjoin'd  to  follow  th'  one 
he  can  worke  out  at  once,  because  it  hath  manifold  instruc- 
tions for  Cyphar  writing,  which  should  doubtlesse  be  of 
great  use  in  a  future  work  of  a  sorte  much  unlike  anything 
hee  hath  yet  scene. 

It  is  undoubtedly  possible  so  to  write  anything  what- 
soever, that  any  who  hath  sufficient  witte,  join'd  with  as 
great  a  measure  of  patience,  may  work  out  th'  hidden  his- 


*Secoiid  Ed.,  published  same  year. 


IN  A  TREATISE  OF  MELANCHOLY.  91 

torie  without  other  directions  then  he  heerein  may  duly 
finde.  We  have  in  our  idole  times  amused  and  likewise 
well  assured  ourselfe  of  our  inve'tion,  of  which  wee  most 
frequently  speake,  by  ourselfe  working  from  our  published 
worke,  that  which  formerly  bore  other  names,  th'  some- 
times weak  yet  not  unworthy  portio's  translated  from  noble 
Homer,  his  poemes,  or  great  Virgill's  verse.  By  such 
maner  of  finding  parts  of  the  hidden  stories,  this  contri- 
vance is  very  constantlie  in  emploiement,  and  all  our  future 
discypherer's  difiiculties,  by  prevision,  made  lesse,  so  that 
he  should  not,  in  th'  midst  of  his  work,  in  wearinesse  turne 
backe. 

In  many  workes — such  as  the  poemes  at  present  sup- 
pos'd  to  belong  to  Spenser  and  Greene — the  discypherer 
wil  see  portions  of  a  secret  storie  chieflie  co'cerning  our 
lovely  Marguerite  of  ]!!^avarre,  Queene  of  that  realme  and 
our  heart.  Love  of  her  had  power  to  make  the  Duke  of 
Guise  forget  the  greatest  honours  that  France  might  confer 
upon  him ;  and  hath  power  as  wel  to  make  all  such  fleeting 
glory  seeme  to  us  like  dreames  or  pictures,  nor  can  wee 
name  ought  reall  that  hath  not  origin  in  her.  At  one  time 
a  secret  jealousy  was  consta'tlie  burning  in  our  vains,  for 
Duke  Henry  then  f  oUow'd  her  day  in  and  out,  but  she  hath 
given  us  proof  of  love  that  hath  now  sette  our  hart  at  rest 

on  th'  quaery. 

FRANCIS,  PRINCE  O'  WALES. 


EUPHUES— MOEAA^DO.     1587. 

ROBERT  GREENE. 

Happie  th'  man,  who,  wearing  in  humble  life  a  crowne 
such  as  the  Jewes  of  former  dayes  platted  for  th'  Christ, 
must  win  later  the  much  priz'd  golden  rigoll  which  is  worne 
by  mortall  men  who  are  blest.  Shut  our  eyes  we  cannot. 
A  hand  upon  th'  heart  would  not  crush  out  the  life,  as  doth 


92  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON 

feare  tliat  we  may  fail  to  win  our  proper  crowne  though  th' 
Queene  be  our  *mother. 

Dailie  we  see  cause  of  this  co'stantlie  increasing 
dread,  in  the  favour  shewne  to  our  brother  rather  than  to 
ourselfe,  despite  the  prioritie  of  our  clayme  to  all  princelie 
honour.  And  th'  frenzied  eagernes  hee  doth  bewray, — 
when  these  shews  and  vauntlinglie  marked  favours,  give 
co'firmatio'  strong  as  proofes  o'  Holie  Writ  of  our  wise- 
dome, — maketh  us  to  inquire  sadly  of  our  owne  hart 
whether  our  brother  returneth  our  warm  affection.  The 
love  we  beare  him  is  as  fresh  at  this  day,  as  it  was  in  his 
boyhoode,  when  the  relationship  was  for  some  time  so 
carefully  kept  unknown — as  th'  fact  was,  for  yeares, 
guarded  of  our  high  birth  and  station.  Xot  a  thought  then 
enter'd  th'  brain,  that  it  was  not  a  ple'sure  for  us  both  to 
share.  Our  joies  were  thus  two-fold,  our  sorrowes  all  cut 
in  twaine ;  but  th'  pride  of  his  heart  having  beene  aroused, 
our  eies  can  but  note  th'  change,  for  hee  seldom  doth  keep 
the  former  waies  in  remembrance.  Even  in  his  manner 
now,  we  thinke,  one  thought  hath  a  voyce:  "Without  a 
brother  like  ours  that  hath  come  before  us  by  sixe  short 
yeares,  we  could  rely  whollie  upon  ourself e,  and,  further- 
more, bee  th'  heyre  to  England's  throne."  N^othing  soe 
open,  so  unmistakeable ;  but  at  times  he  maketh  a  great 
shew,  stranger  to  our  heart  then  the  colde  ungracious 
manner. 

When  this  spirit  of  kindnes  is  felt  noe  more — when 
this  shall,  be  lost — th'  minde  can  furnish  few  thoughtes, 
wrought  thro'  pain,  from  mem'ries  of  th'  past  houres  o'  joy, 
to  comforte  and  console  it.  Whe'  th'  heart  hath  suffer'd 
change,  and  a  breach  beginneth  to  widen,  noe  wordes  fill  it 
up.  An  altred  affection,  one  weakly  parteth  from,  of  neede, 
— for  noe  redresse  is  suitable. 

•Morando. 


IN  MORANDO.  93 

The  chiefe  cause  nowe  of  the  imeasinesse  is,  however, 
the  questio'  that  hath  risen  regarding  these  plots  of  Mary, 
and  those  of  th'  olde  faith — a  question  of  Elizabethe's 
clayme  to  the  throne,  and  therefore,  likewise,  our  owne. 
With  everyone  whose  aime  putteth  him  very  seldom  to 
blush,  in  heart,  we  desire  onelie  that  this  supreme  right 
shall  bee  also  supreme  power.  This  doth  more  depende 
tipon  some  work  of  Henries,  then  this  secret  royale  espousall 
wee  mention  oft.  Hence  a  wish  that  is  not  perhaps  un- 
worthie  in  us,  under  such  peculiar  circumstances  surround- 
ing not  only  ourselfe  but  our  brother,  to  write  another  his- 
tory. 

F.  B. 


PERIMEDES— PAIs^DOSTO.     1588. 

ROBERT  GREENE. 

Til  other  writings  have  bene  finish'd,  you  cannot  carry 
out  the  wish  we  doe  so  frequentlie  utter,  that  the  deciph- 
erer shall  take  up  a  grave  taske — that  of  writing  againe  a 
historie  that  shal  be  as  strange  as  one  in  a  suspitious  drama 
not  claiming  to  be  narrative  save  of  a  fayned  storie. .  'Tis, 
however,  true  in  everie  circumstance — as  true  as  truth. 
Our  heart  is  almost  bursting  with  our  indignation,  grief, 
and  sorrowe ;  and  wee  feel  our  penne  quivering,  as  a  steed 
doth  impatientlie  stand  awaiting  an  expected  note  of  the 
home  o'  the  hunt,  ere  darti'g,  as  an  arrowe  flies  to  the  targe, 
across  moor  and  glen.  We  write  much  in  a  feverous  long- 
ing to  live  among  men  of  a  future  people.  Here  in  the 
Court,  th'  story  is  but  as  th'  tale  that  the  olde  wives  tell  as 
they  sit  in  comfort  by  the  fire — tho'  it  be  tolde  as  truth, 
seldome  accredite'.  It  is  ofttimes  repeeted,  yet  is  as  fre- 
quently waived ;  for  'tis  as  dangerous  sorte  of  speech  as  can 


94  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON 

come  within  th'  compasse  of  faithful  courtiers'  intercourse. 
'Twould  show  ill,  if  publisht  so  that  all  within  reach  might 
know  it,  besides  costing  our  life,  altho'  it  is  truth  itself. 
Manifestly  the  truth  is  now  da'gerous  and  should  bee  con- 
ceal'd.    Rex  you  must  know  to  be  our  future  title. 

F.,  PR.  OF  W. 


SPANISH  MASQUERADO.     EDITIOI^S  1589. 

ROBERT  GREENE. 

Turn  to  a  booke  entitul'd  Alcida,  a  Metamorphosis^ 
befo'  you  decipher  that  most  interesting  Tale  of  Troie^ 
lately  written  to  make  a  piece  suited  to  our  translatio'  of  th' 
divine  workes  of  Homer,  Prince  of  Poetes,  and  also  of 
noble  Virgin,  co'ceal'd  in  cyphars.  Thinking  to  be,  by  a 
waie  of  our  devising,  able  to  write  the  secret  story  so  that  it 
may  in  a  time  not  farre  off  acquaint  many  of  our  people 
with  our  true  name,  we  also  do  ask,  (in  al  of  our  work  we 
publish  under  names  that  be  almost  trite)  that  every  arte 
bee  used  to  take  th'  Cyphre  out.  Works  o'  Homer,  printed, 
cannot  go  to  oblivion ;  and  if  our  caref uU  planne  preserve 
those  rich  gemmes,  it  shal  build  our  owne  moniment  of  that 
which  shall  outlast  all  els,  and  make  our  name  at  least 
reflect  the  glorie,  that  must — as  long  as  our  changing,  sub- 
tlie  altering  mother-tongue  endure — be  seene  af  arre. 

FR.,  PRINCE, 

Another  edition  of  above  printed  same  year. 

Turn  to  a  booke  entitul'd  Alcida,  a  Metamorphosis, 
befo'  you  decipher  that  milde  Tale  o'  Troy,  that  may,  truth 
to  say,  well  be  nam'd  a  cistur',  because  severall  riven  rockes 
yet  give  sacred  dewe  therto — verses  of  Homer  of  unmatch'd 
beautie ;  of  th'  prince,  soe  nam'd,  of  those  that  it  pleas'd  to 


IN  SPANISH  MASQUERADO.  95 

write  in  Latine,  Virgill ;  Petrarck  in  a  fine  line ;  or  Ennius, 
braving  daily  surly  critike  but  miraculouslie  kept  soe  free 
as  to  strike  all  with  dismaie.  Our  one  hope  of  leaving  our 
cipha'  historie  in  like  surrou'dinges,  you,  by  marking  soe- 
cal'd  joining  or  co'bining  keies,  doe  as  easily  unmask  as  we 
do  inve't  a  meanes  to  hide.  The  furtherance  of  our  much 
cherrish'd  plan,  keepeth  us  heartened  for  our  work,  making 
hope,  or  wish  even  of  immediate  recogniza'ce,  of  little  con- 
sequence beside  such  possible  renowne  as  might  bee  ours  in 
a  farre  off  age  thorow  our  i'vention.  When  first  our 
wo'drous  Ciphar,  surging  up  in  the  minde,  ingu'ft  our 
nightly  thought,  th'  mind  far  out-ran  al  posi — (Incomplete 
— joins  with  some  other  work  not  yet  deciphered.) 


FRANCIS  BACON'S 


BI-LITERAL  CIPHER 


PART  11. 

( Reprint,  Second  Edition. ) 


THE  DECIPHERED  SECRET  STORY, 
i^go  to  i6^^. 

CHRONOLOGICALLY  ARRANGED. 


Complaints. 

(Containing  fundrtc 

Jmall  Toemes  of  the 

Worlds  Va- 

nitie, 

VVhereofthe  next  Page 
maketh  menti- 
on. 
By  Ed.  Sp. 

L  O  N  D  O  N. 

Imprinted  for  vyilUA.n 

VonfmUe,  duelling  '\n  Paules 

Churchyard  at  the  {^^^\Q  of 

tht  ^tfiops  head. 


A  note  of  the  ftindrie  Poemcs  contained 
in  this  Volume. 

/  The7(HirtesofTime\ 

2  TheTearesofthetJ^tifes, 

S  Virgils  Gnat,. 

4  T'rofipofoia^ot toother HuhberdsTale^ 

5  The  Rhines  of  Rome :  by  Bellay. 

6  tMuiopotmoiyOt  The  Tale  of  the^utterfUe, 

7  Vifioni  of  the  Worlds  vanitje, 

8  'BeUayes  vi/ions. 

p  I'etrarchesvifions. 


COMPLAINTS. 
1590  AND  1591.  ' 

As  feares  for  life  are  powerful!  motives  for  the  adoptio' 
of  secret  inethodes  of  inscribing  such  portions  of  history 
as  the  sovereign  chooseth  to  have  shut  within  the  memory, 
you  may  not  think  strange  if  you  discover  here  a  Ciphe' 
epistle,  but  we  earnestly  beseech  and  humbly  pray  you  to 
be  the  guard  to  our  secret  as  to  your  owne. 

In  truth  our  life  is  now  put  in  real  deadly  dange'  from 
her  that  hath  our  *destiny  as  in  the  hollowe  o'  her  smal 
palme.  Her  selfe-love  *more  then  our  good  fame  dom- 
inates in  her  whole  heart,  being  powerful!  to  *oreballance 
sweete  mothe'  love.  ^Betray  not  our  dear  hope,  for  soe 
much  doth  our  life  seeme  made  up  of  nought  else,  if  it 
bee  lost  wee  dye  and  make  no  signe. 

A  man  doth  slowly  eat  his  very  inmost  soule  and  hart, 
when  there  shall  ceaSe  to  bee  a  friend  to  whom  he  may 
open  his  inner  thought,  knowledge,  or  life,  and  it  is  to  you, 
by  means  little  knowne  and  lesse  suspected  at  present  writ- 
ing, that  we  now  addresse  an  epistle.  But  if  you  bee  as 
blinde  to  this  as  others,  this  labour's  lost,  as  much  as  love's 
in  th'  play  we  have  staged  of  *late. 

Our  name  is  Fr.  Bacon,  by  adoption,  yet  it  shall  be  dif- 
ferent. Being  of  blood  roial,  (for  the  Queene,  our  sov'- 
raigne,  who  maried  by  a  private  rite  the  Earle  Leicester — 
and  at  a  subseque't  time,  also,  as  to  make  *surer  thereby, 

*Visions  of  the  World's  Vanltie.       *Vislons  of  Bellay. 
*Visions  of  Petrarch.  *Epistle  Dedicatory,   etc. 

*Rulne  of  Time.  *Tears  of  the  Muse& 


2  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

without  pompe  but  i'  th'  presence  o'  a  suitable  number  of 
witnesses,  bound  herself  e  by  those  hymeneall  bands  againe 
— is  our  mother,  and  wee  were  not  base-born  or  base  begot) 
we  be  Tudor,  and  our  stile  shall  be  Francis  First,  in  all 
proper  cours  of  time,  th'  king  of  our  realme. 

Early  in  our  life,  othe — or  threat  as  binding  in  effect 
as  othe,  wee  greatly  doubt — was  made  by  our  wilful  parent 
concerning  *succession,  and  if  this  cannot  bee  chang'd,  or 
be  not  in  time  w'thdrawn,  wee  know  not  how  th'  kingdome 
shall  be  obtain'd.  But  'tis  thus  seene  or  shewn  that  it  can 
bee  noe  other's  by  true  desce't,  then  is  set  down.  To 
Francis  First  doth  th'  crowne,  th'  honor  of  our  land  belong. 

Some  have  won  this  right  by  force  in  battaile.  Of  such 
take,  in  example,  th'  first  Tudor;  or,  at  our  day,  Henry  of 
^^avarre.  Yet,  not  being  of  a  martiall  temper,  we  bee 
naturally  averse,  and  slightlic  impatie't  of  fighting  to 
*secure  a  place  which  by  Divine  right  pertaineth  unto  the 
first-borne  of  a  soveraigne. 

If  you  note  th'  saltnesse  of  this  relation,  let  it  not  great- 
lie  surprise  you;  rather  marvell  at  it  if  you  see  no  worse 
things,  for  we  are  somewhat  bitter  in  spirit  oft-times  as 
other  men  would  be. 

It  killes  joyes  blossomes  on  seing  by  one's  side  glide  all 

feares;   and  some  by  stru^les,   tiring  ene  the  might  of 

noblest  and  th'  most  daring  of  soldiers,  strive  t'  get  an 

advantage    of    *their    besetting    foes.      But    wee    choose 

another  waye,  and  a  different  course.     A  ruler,  especially 

a  ruler  of  so  mightie  a  kingdome  as  this,  having  power  in 

a  wondrous  degree,  sho'ld  winne  like  fame.     It  is  this  wee 

seeke. 

F.  B. 


♦Virgil's  Gnat.  *Proi-opopoia. 

*Ruines  of  Rome. 


TO  THE  RIGHT 

\'Vorthy  and  noble  Knight 

Sir  Walter  Raletgh^  CaptaineofherMaiefties 

Guard,  Lord  Wardeinofthe  Stanncries, 

and  Lieut emnt  of  the  Count ie  of 

CorrwalL 

(V) 


/  iJ,  that  you  may  fee  that  lamftotal- 
waies  ydle  as  yee  thinke  ^  thou^  not 
greatly  well  occupied  y  nor  altogither 
vnduti fully  though  not  pecifely  of- 
ficious ^  Imakeyou  frefent  ofthtsftm- 
plepaBorally  vnworthie  of  your  high^ 
er  conceiptforthemeanejfe  of  the  file, 
hut  agreeing  wtth  the  truth  in  circumsiance  and  mat- 
ter. The  -which  1  humbly  hefeech  you  to  accept  in  part 
ofpaiment  of  the  infinite  debt  in  which  I  acknowledge 
my  felfehounden  njnto  you,  for  your  fngular  ftuours 
md  fundrie  good  turnes  shewed  to  n^  at  my  late  being 
in  EngUndy  and  with  your  good  countenance  protect  a- 
<iainsf  the  malice  of  euill  mouthes ,  which  are  alrvaies 
wide  opento  carpe at andmifconltruemyfimple meaning* 

A    2  / 


The  Epiftic  Dedicatorie. 

/  fra^  -continudly  for  your  happineffe.    From  jtrf  houfi 

<ff  Kilcolman,  thei^,  cfDecmher, 

I )-  9  I. 

Yours  cuer  humbly. 


IN  COLIN  CLOUT. 


COLIN  CLOUT. 
1595. 


As  all  eies  have  glanc'd  but  lightly  on  such  a  Cyphar 
in  th'  former  poems  put  out  in  this  name,"  our  fear  may 
rest,  for  surely  no  eye  is  bente  suspiciouslie  or  with  inquiry 
upon  anie. 

Often  was  worke,  when  in  danger  of  too  strict  or  careful 
note,  divided,  and  but  a  part  given  foorth  at  a  time,  e.  g. 
some  latelie  set  forth  in  th'  name  of  Greene  and  Peele,  or 
in  this,  a  few  yeares  ago.  Marlow  is  also  a  pen  name 
emploi'd  ere  taking  Wm.  Shakespeare's,  as  our  masque  or 
vizard,  that  wee  should  remayne  unknowne,  inasmuch  as 
wee,  having  worked  in  drama,  history  that  is  most 
vig'rously  supprest,  have  put  ourselfe  soe  greatly  in  dange' 
that  a  word  unto  Queene  Elizabeth,  without  doubt,  would 
give  us  a  sodaine  horriblle  end — an  exit  without  re-en- 
trance— for  in  truth  she  is  authour  and  preserve'  of  this, 
our  being.  We,  by  men  call'd  Bacon,  are  sonne  of  the 
sov'raig-ne,    Queene   Elizabeth,   who   whe'   confin'd   i'   th' 

tow'r,  maiTied  Ro.  D. 

FR.  B. 


4  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

FAERIE  QUBENE. 
1596. 

E.  Sp.  could  not  otherwise  so  easilie  atchieve  honours 
that  pertyne  to'  ourself e.  Indeed  this  would  alone  crowne 
his  head,  if  this  were  all — I  speake  not  of  golden  crowne, 
but  of  lawrell — for  our  pen  is  dipt  deepe  into  th'  Muses' 
pure  source. 

Although  to  conceale  these  Cyphe',  th'  works  thus 
appear'd,  we  were  in  good  hope  that  whe'  our  divers  small 
poemes  might  bee  scene  in  printed  forme,  th'  approvall  o' 
Lord  Leicester  might  be  gain'd:  hee,  as  doubtlesse  you 
found  in  earlier  decyphering,  being  our  owne  father,  and 
in  a  waie,  having  matters  in  his  hands  regarding  the  rec- 
ognition, and  th'  remuneratio'  Her  Ma.  should  offer,  suit- 
ably rewarding  soe  great  labours.  Th'  wish  to  shew  our 
God-given  powers  and  gifts  of  song  warr'd  with  th'  resolve 
made  in  heat  of  young  bloud — alreadie  familiar  as  a  vow 
from  your  own  soule,  inasmiich  as  it  can  onely  bee  car- 
ried on  thro'  your  aide. 

The  hidden  letter  taketh  man  back  to  a  time  in  Eliza- 
beth's raigne,  cloaked,  as  might  bee  said,  in  a  night  blacker, 
if  that  be  possible,  then  iSTight,  or  ^^Egyptian,  Stygian  or 
anie  blacknesse  knowne  to  anie  times  or  peoples. 

Eewe  women  of  any  countrey,  royall  or  not,  married  or 
single,  would  play  so  madly  dari'g,  so  wildly  venturing  a 

game,  as  Queene  E ,  our  willfuly  blind  mother,  who 

hath  for  many  long  yeares  been  wedded  to  th'  Earle  of 
Leicester.  A  king's  daughter  gave  a  worthie  president  to 
all  states,  in  that  shee  would  wed  as  her  wishes  dictated, 
not  thro'  negotiation  and  by  treaty.  But  it  would  at  pres- 
ent appear  to  be  forgotten  since  we  hoped  to  winne  youth- 


IN  FAERIE  QUEENE.  5 

full  love's  first  blossome  for  life's  girlo'd  but  were  refus'd, 
and  helde  to  customarie  observances  as  firmlie  as  anie  cere- 
monial court  might  require.  It  was  upon  this  grievous 
failure  (much  more  grievous  at  that  blacker  houre  of 
mourning  for  our  kind  father  of  our  earliest  remembrance, 
if  not  our  sire  in  th'  naturall  way  of  bloud)  a  great  attract 
wonne  more  on  our  minde — our  true  right, — ^true,  lawfuU, 
divine  gift, — our  kingdome  more — from  plain  statements 
that  were  made  concerning  our  true  hope  of  the  succes- 
sion; yet  Her  Ma.  though  given  to  rashnesse,  seldome 
speaketh  out  of  her  hart  in  presence-hal,  or  whylst  i'  th' 
councell,  having  a  desire  of  showi'g  foorth  the  royal  tem- 
per of  her  sire  rather  then  a  woman,  her  spirit. 

All  this  work'd  with  some  power  in  th'  yong  heart.  One 
historick  drama  afterward,  gave  th'  first  full  history  therein, 
but  it  is  in  a  Word-Cypher,  that  doubtful  as  our  aventure 
seem'd,  we  are  in  hope  is  master'd.  Th'  Cipher  playes  are 
a  good  ensample  of  th'  dramas  we  now  write,  and  tho'  it  be 
not  secret,  the  history  of  King  Edw^ard  First  and  King 
Edward  Second  Avill  not  appeare  in  our  name,  th'  Cypher 
letters  being  contain'd  in  these,  but  Edouard  Third  was 
us'd  for  proofe  of  th'  Cypher  we  give.  Th'  keies  may  bee 
found  soone,  and  wee  will  now  shew  an  argument  of  the 
play  for  ayd  to  a  correcte  writing. 

You  will  thus  observe  that  in  plays,  onlie  scenes  which 
hold  the  eye  are  of  use.  We  commence,  therefore,  with 
th'  seizure  of  Koger  Mortimer  who  rul'd  with  the  ayd,  so 
cald,  of  th'  Queene-mother.  Edouard  was  leader  of  a 
choyce  number,  bardie  and  bold  in  temper,  so  that  when 
he  dema'ded  that  he  should  be  declar'd  king,  Parliament 
promptly  issued  the  proclamation  making  him  ruler. 

No  sooner  was  hee  well  establisht  in  England  in  great 


6  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

power,  then  he  straightwaie  elaim'd  the  crowne  of  riche 
France  since  he  was  sonne  t'  the  sister  of  King  Philip,  th' 
late  sov'raigne,  whereupon  th'  councel  make  answer  in 
strong  deni'l  of  such  right,  as  by  the  Sa[l]ike  lawe  th' 
throne  is  neither  held  nor  can  be  transmitted  thro'  a  woman. 

The  warres  w'hich  folow'd  were  long  and  cruell.  At 
Crecie  Prince  Edward,  named  the  Black  Prince,  could  by 
noe  means  be  restrained  fro'  battaile.  He  was  then  giv'n 
charge  of  th'  troops  at  their  right,  which  he  array'd  so 
that  th'  men-att-armes,  who  being  more  sturdy  of  build, 
stood  fastest  in  line;  then  with  English  weapon'd  archers 
he  formed  a  mighty  hearse  and  comanded  all  to  remaine 
firme,  nor  advance.  Seeing  th'  knights  rushing  tumult- 
uously  to  battaile,  his  eager  men  chafed  and  faine  had  dis- 
obey'd  their  orders  but  the  Prince  bade  his  train'd  war- 
riours  stand  firme  and  await  their  foes.  When  but  a 
stone's  throwe  distante  they  were  allow'd  a  single  stride 
forward;  their  aime,  being  so  cool,  was  sure  as  th'  shafts  of 
Death.  France  saw  her  bravest  o'  souldiers  slaine  like 
sheepe. 

Warwicke,  and  th'  troopes  he  led,  folowed  the  example 
in  th'  maine  body;  and  Oxford,  commanding  his  left  wing, 
also  kept  his  eager  troopes  in  checke  after  the  same  man- 
ner. It  was  the  good  fortune  of  the  Prince  to  slaie  by  his 
owne  hand  th'  king  of  Bohemia,  aydant  o'  the  French. 
Wearinesse  seem'd  far  from  his  limbs  and  his  corage 
flagg'd  not,  but  seeing  him  rushing  into  the  conflicte,  a 
messenger  went  t'  find  Edward's  sire  beseeching  aide. 

"But,"  asked  the  sire,  "hath  my  sonne  fallen?" 

"No,  Your  Ma." 

"liTor  woimded?" 

"]^oe,  unhurt.  Your  Ma." 


IN  FAERIE  QUEENE.  7 

"A  prisoner?" 

"Free,  Yo'  Ma." 

"Say  yee  he  needeth  ayde?  My  lion's  whelp  shall  win 
glory  to-day.     This  is  a  mighty  vict'ry  none  may  share." 

A  victory  it  was.  hut  hardly  wonne,  and  it  did  not  end 
onr  troubles  in  that  land — afterwards  there  was  Poictiers, 
also  Callice.  Then  was  th'  black  death  sent  upon  the  peo- 
ple from  farre-of  Cathay  and  the  dead  were  numberlesse. 
All  Europe  by  that  dread  scorge  felt  th'  heavy  hand  of 
God.  By  th'  black  death  was  Laura  snatcht  from  th'  poete. 
Divine  sorrow  gave  his  pen  its  theme.  England  was  almost 
depriv'd  of  labourers,  for  the  plague  was  hea^de  o'  those 
whom  coarsenesse  of  comon  food  ingrosed,  yet  those  who 
were  fed  with  fare  o'  th'  king  perish'd  likewise. 

In  th'  third  division,  since  (i)  it  was  necesary  to  have 
noe  lesse  then  these  in  order  t'  represent  his  long  raigne, 
you  see  th'  waning  fortunes  of  Prince  Edward  in  th'  south. 
Losse  of  faire  Limoges  not  long  afte'  th'  putting  of  th' 
worthlesse  king  of  Spayne  on  the  trembling  throne  of  that 
countrey  by  th'  aide  of  their  soe  c 

FAERIE    QUEENE. 
SECOND  PART,  JOINS. 
1596. 

[c]  ailed  free  companies — Pedro  of  surname,  th'  cruell — un- 
favourably looked  upon  as  it  was,  it  in  noe  waye  daimted 
him,  our  conquering  prince,  nor  restrai'd  him.  However, 
hee  had  but  half  enjoyed  this  triumph  of  his  troopes  in  th' 
South,  before  th'  Bastard  unseated  Pedro  and  made  him 
seeke  shelter  in  France.  Following  slowly,  Edward,  no 
lesse  courageous,  I  [ay]  more  gallant  even,  found  many 
thinges  captivating  to  th'  hero.  In  such  a  mode  of  life, 
his  spoiles  were  quickly  expended.     Th'  sweating  hast  of 


'8  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

th'  long  marcheSj  compleatly  exhausting  the  men  and  dim- 
inishi'g  the  eagernesse  to  goe  into  battaile,  th'  seductive  and 
thoroughly  enervati'g  revells  that  the  souldiers  follow'd  as 
eagerlie  as  they  had  pursu'd  the  foe,  nowe  made  it  neces- 
sarie  to  go  home  to  bring  ove'  his  forces,  and  alreadie  he 
began  to  bee  aware  that  his  returne  wou'd  lacke  jnuch  of 
the  interesse  and  excitement  that  attended  him  on  a  former 
occasio'.  Also  hee  knew  that  his  honour  wo'ld  bee  far 
lesse,  his  entrie  lesse  glorious  and  triumphant  then  when  th' 
King  of  Fra'ce  rode  as  a  prisonner  beside  him. 

It  might  then,  we  sho'ld  have  sayd,  bee  readilie  seene 
that  hee  stood  high  in  all  the  people's  harts.  London 
seemed  to  stryve  to  outshine  ev'n  herselfe,  soe  that  they 
spar'd  neither  pains  nor  money  to  adde  to  the  honour  or  his 
glory.  On  this  occasion  lesse  glory  was  given  him  by  th' 
comon  hindes,  and  th'  bonfires  which  they  love  best  were 
soe  few,  hee,  himself e,  inquired:  "Is  there  no  more  fewel? 
Are  we .  povertie  strucken  ?" 

After  soe  milde  a  wellcome,  his  spirit  yearn'd  greatly 
for  more  conquests,  yet  hee  fell  quicklie  into  the  Syren's 
snares  of  pleasure,  like  his  sire,  that  was  for  long  in  stro'g 
bondes,  not  becoming  or  kinglie.  Many  courtiers  eagerly 
imitating  a  well  honour'd  king  in  his  vices,  our  good  olde 
England  soe  well  renown'd  thro'  Europe,  and  ev'n  unto 
Jewrie  for  sobriety,  nowe  began  to  bee  knowne  for  her 
mirth  and  gaiety. 

After  th'  decease  of  the  vertuous  Phillipa,  Edward  was 
greatly  in  the  power  of  one  of  a  great  number  of  ladies 
which  surrou'ded  all  this  traine,  even  as  the  gay  women 
els'where  thro'g  round  courtiers.  He  had  given  th'  name 
of  "Th'  Lady  of  the  Sun"  to  the  fayre  being,  and  it  is  no 
doubt  quight  a  prope'  style,  being,  I  am  assured,  every 


IN  FAERIE  QUEBNE.  9 

wave  fitting;  for  fewe  on  earth  have  so  dazling  beauty, 
verilie,  like  to  that  lovelinesse  of  Circe,  f aire  daughter  of 
Phoebus.  Her  triumphs  were  compleat,  as  it  may  well  be 
conceyv'd,  whilst  Edward's  supreame  sovereignty  lasted, 
but  after  awhile  she  drank  the  sweetnese  from  her  full 
glasse  and  found  its  dregs  as  bitter  as  wormewoode.  Wise 
Solomon  would  have  foretold  this  sodain  downefal,  if  she 
had  but  read  it  in  th'  Book  of  Wisdom.  You  may  seeke 
it,  if  it  be  doubtf uU  to  yourself e.  Blind  fate  could  not  bee 
a  sterner,  or  in  truth,  soe  sterne  an  executioner.  But  I 
do  digresse. 

After  these  portio's  have  their  great  contrasts  most 
clearlie  set  out,  I  shew  th'  death  of  this  hero,  yet  not  too 
fully.  That  of  the  King  is,  however,  omited,  my  wish 
being  to  fixe  men's  mindes  rather  upon  the  doughtinesse 
that  he  exhibited,  his  other  qualities  of  a  true  and  wise  man 
of  th'  olde  times,  whe'  to  bee  king  compelled  him  to  wear 
armoure,  and  leade  into  a  battell, — aventuring  everiethi'g 
of  valew,  life,  kingdome,  people, — to  retayne  his  posses- 
sions. 

To  mine  owne  seKe  this  waye  of  maintaining  the  Divine 
right  is  repugna't,  and  when  I  come  at  last  into  my  right, 
th'  power  of  the  minde  shall  by  my  wisdome — as  may  be 
said  by  th'  writer  of  Cypher  workes  that  possiblie  be  con- 
ceal'd  so  well  that  noe  other  eie  may  se  how  wise  he  is  in 
his  conceipt — bee  shewne  to  be  greatly  exceeding  that  of 
the  sine-s\y  right  arme.  This  is  my  hope  in  labour,  oft  as 
hard  and  as  fatigui'g  as  falleth  to  him  that  hath  alwaies 
toyl'd  for  his  bread,  as  'tis  by  such  meanes  that  kingly 
mindes  should  bee  disciplin'd. 

Th'  fears  that  fill'd  and  harrassed  all  my  minde,  when 
with  a  strong  motive  for  secrecy  soe  well  knowne  to  my  dis- 


10  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

ciph'rer,  this  Cypher  was  i'vented,  have  become  farre  more 
constant,  for  I.  can  observe  manie  things  which  pointe  to 
great  watchfulnes  o'  th'  part  of  those  whom  my,  mother, 
thorow  that  spye  Cecill,  hath  beene  induc'd  to  set  to  minde 
everie  interest  and  employme't  that  I  have.  This  writing 
doth  attracte  attention,  yet  is  not  known  to  come  fro'  my 
penne,  therefore  I  may  freely  open  my  soule  herein  and 
give  to  posterity  this  sad  story  of  my  misfortunes  and  still 
cherish  this  hope  that  a  time  shall  come  when  right  shall 

prevayl.  Your  humble  servant, 

FRA'C.  BACON. 

SHAKESPEARE  QUARTO. 

RICHARD  SECOND. 

1598. 

By  having  Arte  for  a  guidi'g  word,  it  must  be  only 
quicke  sight  could  see  where  my  discipherer  hath  bin 
directed.  Other  men,  indeed,  or  such  as  were  induc'd  to 
take  my  works  wil  winne  his  attention  by  word  or  signe 
known  to  the  faithfull  man  who  is  to  bring  this  history  to 
that  vast  world  which  lieth  dreamlesse  far,  far  off,  as  a 
thing  apart.  These  are  as  Greene,  his  worke,  hath  said. 
First  all  those  great  yet  lame  lines,  none  having  sight  of 
think  to  contayn  anie  Cyphe',  and  the  epickes  of  Faerie 
Queene,  Honour;  Marlowe's  fine  guide,  Reputation; 
Peele's,  Nature;  Melanc'olie,  Truth;  Oreene,  Fortune  car- 
rieth.  My  guide  is  Time,  as  all  that  I  do,  tho'  great,  sus- 
taineth  such  change  of  forme  as  Time  maketh  desired,  and 
little  hath  at  this  writing  come  forth  as  Time's  other  then 
a  little  prose,  for  great  secrets  will  surelie  have  to  guard 
all  doores  t'  avoid  surprises  and  capture. 

Men  call  me  Bacon  but  I  am  the  Queene's  future  heyre. 

F. 


IN  DAVID  AND  BETHSABE,  H 


GEOKGE  PEELE. 

DAVID  AND  BETHSABE. 
1599. 

You  looke  thorowe  our  worke  and  finde  but  part  of  noted 
Cypher  of  use  to  all.  Axes  and  every  kinde  of  weapon 
would  fall  with  swifte  justice  on  th'  head  of  th'  adventurous 
man  that  should  openlie  inserte  such  historie  here.  Her 
Ma.  should  by  so  mad  daring,  dubbe  me,  to  th'  courageous 
men  of  our  broad  land,  as  a  Sonne  of  FoUie.  You,  I  know, 
muse  on  it  wond'ri'g  at  a  tale  soe  hidden  when  so  oft  over- 
lookt  by  my  many  inquiring  or  inquisitive  enimies;  but 
none  hath  yet  found  the  secret  herein  told.  You  must  give 
everything  grav'  attentio'  if  any  other  famed  Cyphars  be 
found.  ISTone  must  hold  the  opinion  that  our  history  may 
be  giv'n  with  speedy  pen,  since  there  be  much  of  a  secret 
nature  closelie  conjoyn'd,  and  in  puting  foorth  our  Cyphe', 
must  nere  be  pass'd  by. 

Although  not  our  life,  it  can  at  once,  wee  do  assure  you, 
be  cleerly  shewne,  noe  chapter  may  wel  be  lefte,  as  all 
twineth  closelie,  bindi'g  such  firme  bands  noe  one  may  sep- 
arate them.     The  story  that  we  related  o'  th'  life  that  we 

led  at  the  Court  at  Fr (pages  missing) 

....  but  all  must  first  bee  found  in  our  workes. 

Confessio's  do  somewh't  discompose  anie  that  doe  think 

our  work  but  a  pastime.     It  is  quite  well  worth  our  weary 

labor. 

FRA'CIS  B. 


12  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 


SHAKESPEAKE  QTJAKTOS. 

MIDSOMMER  NIGHT'S   DREAM. 
ROBERTS  EDITION  1600. 

That  unfinish'd  work  may  furder  occupy  your  time  and 
until  one  play  have  beene  wel  decipher'd  let  noe  othe'  have 
atte'tion  for  the  storie,  oft  in  disjoin'd  and  broken  work, 
will  give  ayd. 

Read  of  a  man  of  our  realm  that  at  morn,  or  eve,  plai's 
spy  on  my  everie  act  under  great  secrecy,  and  gave  me 
manie  a  cause  in  m'  youth  to  make  life  in  Eraunce  most 
beneficent.  Of  his  great  hatre',  one  o'  my  greatest  sor- 
rowes  grewe,  and  my  hasty  banishme't  following  quite 
close,  that  at  that  time  seem'd  maddening,  but  as  in  th' 
most  commone  of  our  youthful  experiences,  became  the 
chiefe  delight.  In  plays  that  I  wrote  about  that  time,  the 
story  of  bane  and  blessings,  of  joies  and  greefes,  are  wel  set 
forth.  Indeede,  some  might  say  my  passion  the'  had  much 
youthly  fire,  but  th'  hate  that  raged  i'  mee  then  was  not 
so  fierie,  in  truth,  as  th'  fierce  hate  so  continualy  burning  i' 
th'  breast  and  ofte  unwiselie  betraid  by  th'  overt  acts  of  the 
man  o'  whom  I  have  writ  many  things. 

In  my  hart,  too,  love  so  soone  ore-threw  envie  as  wel  as 
other  evil  passions,  after  I  found  lonelie  Margaret,  the 
Queene  o'  ^Navarre,  who  willingly  fram'd  excuses  to  keepe 
me,  with  other  right  royall  suitors,  ever  at  her  imperiall 
commandeme't.  A  wonderful  pow'r  to  create  heav'n  upon 
earth  was  i'  that  lov'd  eye.  To  winne  a  shewe  o'  her  fond 
favour,  we  were  faine  to  adventer  even  our  honor,  or  fame, 
to  save  and  shield  her.  Thorow  love  I  dreamed  out  these 
five  other  plays,  fill'd  up — as  we  have  seen  warp  in  some 


MIDSOMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.  13 

hand-loome,  so  as  to  bee  made  a  beautioiis  eolor'd  webb — 

with  words  Marguerite  hath  soe  ofte,  like  to  a  busy  hand, 

shot  dailie  into  a  fajre-hued  web,  and  made  a  riehe-hued 

damask,  vastlie  more  dear;  and  should  life  bewwraie  [an] 

interiour  room  in  my  calme  but  aching  brest,  on  everie 

hand  shal  her  work  be  seene. 

F.  BACON. 


MIDSOMMER  NIGHT'S   DREAM. 
FISHER  EDITION  1600. 

It  is  noe  matter  if,  on  discyph'ring  one  of  my  Cipher 
playes,  part  of  w^ich  may  be  already  taken  forth,  something 
shal  lacke.  Th'  play  must  of  necessity  bee  an  unfinished 
worke  untill  its  entire  matter  come  from  hiding. 

This  no  one  can  doubt,  without  manifest  lacke  o'  judge- 
ment, is  yet  f  arre  offe.  'Tis  th'  labour  of  yeares  to  provide 
th'  widely  varied  prose  in  which  th'  lines  of  verse  have  a 
faire  haven,  and  lye  anchor'd  untill  a  day  when  th'  coming 
pow'r  may  say :  "Hoist  sayle,  away !  for  the  windes  of  heav'n 
kisse  your  fairy  streamers,  and  th'  tide  is  a-floode.  On  to 
thy  destiny !" 

You  would  do  well  to  keepe  these  numerous,  ornate 
plays  close  by^ — th'  disguyse  in  many  cases,  of  more  seri'us 
history  then  I  plac'd  in  writings  noted  as  works  on  grave 
and  most  important  matters.  As  noe  eie  is  turn'd  on  inno- 
cente  seeming  plays  of  any  kinde,  the  well  hidd'n  history 
may  long  be  safe — too  safe  to  work  me  good  or  ill  in  my 
lifetime  I  now  beleve,  yet  I  have  a  faith  that  it  will  some- 
time be  marked  and  deciphered,  whilst  no  reall  asurance  at 
present  being  a  possibility,  terror  is  in  my  nightly  dre'mes 
ene  as  it  is  in  many  daye-visiones  least  it  should  bee  while 
my  selfish,  vaine,  unnaturall  and  selfe-will'd    or    kingly 


14  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

mer[e] — who  nere  lov'd  a  sonne,  although  that  Heaven 

gave  her  these  twoo,  Essex  and  myselfe,  halfe  so  well  as  a 

parent  should — can  doe  nie  more  harme.      I  am  Francis, 

unacknoweleged  prhice,  who  was,  at  a  time  when  saf'tie 

made  it  prude't,  giv'n  to  kinder  care  and  love,  on  th'  side  o' 

mv  adoptif  mere,  then  a  parent's. 

F.  B. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 
1600. 

Some  kinds  of  little  imprints  were  invented,  as  former 
shew  of  my  timelie  suggestion  here,  would,  I  dare  to  be 
sworne,  cause  some  sharpe-eyed  foe  to  seel:  my  lost  name 
in  the  name  used  as  my  one  true  instructor  dictateth.  Pru- 
dence hath  as  good  cou'sels  in  times  of  danger  as  sadder 
Experience,  and  I  list  onely  to  her  voyce,  when  my  life 
would,  none  can  doubt,  be  a  spedy,  ay'  insta't  forfeit. 

For,  old  as  my  mere,  Elizabeth,  England's  Queene,  is, 
none  can  make  th'  proud,  selfish,  hating  parenV,  though 
bound  to  name  him  who  should  in  time  succe'd  to  th'  throne, 
shew  what  most  might  prove  my  just,  lawful,  or,  if  th'  word 
bee  a  proper  one  in  such  a  place,  a  divine, — as  by  a  right 
Ileaven-given, — heyr-shippe,  liaving  bin  borne,  as  manie 
times  you  have  found  tolde  elsewhere,  child  to  th'  Queene. 

Xo  man  hath  claime  to  such  pow'r  as  some  shal  se  in 
mighty  England,  after  th'  decease  of  Virgin  Queene  E.  by 
dull,  slow  mortalls  farre  or  near,  loved,  wooed  like  some 
gen'rously  affected  youth-loving  mayden,  whylst  she  is  both 
wife  to  th'  noble  lord  that  was  so  sodainely  cut  off  in  his 
full  tide  and  vigour  of  life,  and  mothe' — in  such  way  as 
th'  women  of  the  world  have  groaninglie  bro't  mankinde 
foorth,  and  must  whilst  Xature  doth  raigne — of  two  noble 


SIR  JOHN  OLD-CASTLE  AND  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.   15 

sonnes,  Earle  of  Essex,  train'd  up  by  Devereux  [and]  he 
who  doth  speake  to  yon,  th'  foster  sonne  to  two  wel  fam'd 
frie'ds  o'  th'  Que.,  Sir  J^ichola'  Bacon,  her  wo'thie  adviser 
and  counselor,  and  that  partne'  of  loving  labor  or  dutie,  my 
most  loved  Lady  Anne  Bacon — ^none  needeth  soe  mentio', 
truly  not  to  my  new,  true,  bold  fr'end,  that  far  from  mee 
through  th'  spaces  o'  th'  universe,  both  of  duration  as  well 
as  distance,  wil  take  forth  the  secret  history. 


SIR  JOHN  OliD-CASTLE 

AND  MERCHANT   OF  VENICE. 

J.  ROBERTS  ED.  1600. 

See  or  read.  In  th'  stage-plaies,  two,  the  oldest  or 
earliest  devices  prove  these  twentie  plays  to  have  bin  put 
upon  our  stage  by  the  actor  that  is  suppos'd  to  sell  dramas  of 
value,  yet  'tis  rightlie  mine  owne  labor.  Withal  after  I  did 
dilatate  with  carefull  arte  th'  plan,  I  did  not  doubt  the  quick 
decipherer  would  from  it  trie  other  devices  also;  yet  as  too 
mafkt  care  might  place  a  worke  in  more  perill, — indeede 
saith  as  clearly  to  a  babe  ''It  is  secret  work,  see!"  as  [to] 
deciph'rers, — even  may  th'  rule  evade  inquiry  now  of  eke 
th'  sharpe  eyes  bending  upon  it. 

Law,  a  f  aire  code,  was  trite  and  is  nowise  so  plact  when 
it  is  written  as  was  jesting  John  Premier,  his  declaratio's, 
upon  trees,  to  bee  th'  target  of  idle  archers.  It  was  with  as 
bare-faced  audacitie,  I  doubt  not,  habituallie  assailed  as 
might  have  bin  wel  fortho't.  Eare  were  a  sight,  indeed, 
when  men, — who  ever  hold  it  [is]  man's  very  need  of 
lighter  M^orkes  and  enter taynme't  bri'geth  back  bard,  sweete 


16  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

poetes  criticks  never  shal  spare,  crown'd  with  blig'ted 
wre'ths  of  baye,  saying  that  noe  authour  with  an  interesse 
in  rude  humanity,  who  serving  God  hateth  wro'g,  wil  write 
as  I  have  i'  both  prose  and  poetry  of  crime,  or  aught  that 
th'  jesting  fooles  saye  or  sing,  I  kno'  not  of  whom,  or  th' 
pangs  or  the  joy  o'  love, — may  see  any  o'  their  owne  so  wel 
kepte  evills  acted  upon  our  stage. 

I  am  base,  if,  in  sight  o'  th'  God  both  Jew  and  Chret'en 
revere, — I  [ay]  who  awed  th'  gods  of  other  lands, — not 
lawe,  but  evil,  governed  my  mother,  Elizabeth,  as  shee 
join'd  herselfe  in  a  union  with  Robert  Dudley  whilst  th' 
oath  sworne  to  one  as  belov'd  yet  bound  him.  I  have  bene 
told  hee  aided  in  th'  removall  of  this  obstructio',  when, 
turni'g  on  that  narrowe  treach'rous  step,  as  is  naturall,  shee 
lightly  leaned  upon  th'  raile,  fell  on  th'  bricks — th'  paving 
of  a  court — and  so  died.  'Tis  I  greatly  fear,  as  true,  ev'n, 
as  'tis  misterious,  and  left  a  foul  blot  that  is  cli'ging  yet  to 
his  name,  still  keeping  of  his  closelie  done  ill,  a  thou't  f  arre- 
reaching  as  is  this  universe. 

This  shal  all  be  scene  on  the  stage,  and  a  play  shal  tel  a 
tale  pride  shall  not  keepe,  because  I  am  justlie,  or  by  th' 
lawe,  th'  Pr.  o'  Wales,  *royall  and  soe  honour'd,  grac'd  With 
senses  most  sharpelie  struck  or  mov'dby  the  meteor  of  world- 
lie  grandeur.  This  is  little  to  be  ma'vail'd  at,  for  th'  sensi- 
bilities ofte  cause  our  fancies,  and  are  like  an  instrume't  in 
the  musicia's  skilful  fingers. 

If  noe  cadent  teares  come  to  my  decyph'rer,  I  thinke  it 
stranger  then  hardnesse  in  others,  as  'tis  his  part  t'  take  the 
hidden  secret  fro'  this  outer  false  cov'ring  with  which  'tis 
disguised,  give  it  to  a  posterity  that  is  distant,  and  neither 
will  seeke  for,  or  bee  at  all  cognizante  of  th'  same,  without 

♦Merchant  of  Venice. 


SIR  JOHN  OLD-CASTLE  AND  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.   17 

th'  aide  of  a  friend  that  shall  with  patience  put  it  forth.  If 
this  [be]  clear'd,  fann'd,  and  clarified,  that  all  unworthy 
thi'gs  be  remov'd  as  dregs  from  wort,  as  bad  orts  from  grain 
or  as  lees  fro'  wine,  doing  this,  hee  is  but  part  of  myself e — 
doth  know  interiour  workings  of  the  minde,  as  he  doth 
understand  or  is  consciou'  of  those  of  his  own  minde. 

In  truth  a  man's  thorough  opening  thus  to  a  fr'end  all 
that  his  braine  co'ceiveth,  or  th'  soule  is  co'scious  of,  will 
oft  save  his  reason.  He  will  eat  his  heart  in  lonelie  musi'gs, 
for  oft  a  feav'rous  fire  burneth  in  him,  as  werldes  visions 
shifting  and  looming  with  wondrous  swiftnesse  on  th'  view, 
wooe  th'  minde  from  its  labours  to  a  restless  tosse,  as  a  shippe 
is  beaten  by  mercilesse  windes,  or  like  to  egg-shells  crush'd 
togethe',  broken  to  pieces,  or  soone  made  wrack. 

This  cannot  be  otherwise,  with  one  knowing  that  he  is 
heire-apparent  to  this  kingdome,  outrag'd,  wrong'd,  dis- 
honour'd  by  one  whose  maternall  love  was  not  of  so  great 
strength  as  a  desire  for  pow'r.  In  such  a  sonne,  th'  wisest 
our  age  thus  f  arr  hath  shewen, — pardon,  prithee,  so  u'seemly 
a  phrase,  I  must  speake  it  heere, — th'  mother  should  lose 
selfish  vanitie  and  be  actuated  only  by  a  desire  for  his 
advancement. 

With  Elizabeth  it  is  not  markt.  A  sonne  can  nere  share 
in  regall  and  governeing  duties,  but  Essex  at  one  time  grew 
verie  arrogant  havi'g  for  a  faire  season  our  gay  mere's  hon- 
ourable and  siistayjiing  favour  and  the  aydant  interesse  of 
our  pGre. 

At  that  time  I  knew  my  owne  claime  to  favour  must, 
yeelded  publikely,  bee  as  truly  yielded  up  afterwards.     I 
make  a  boast  in  speaking  so,  yet,  Kobt.  shall  c — 
(Joins  with  some  other  work  not  yet  deciphered.) 


18  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 


RICHARD,  DUKE  OF  YORK. 
1600. 

(Some  work  precedes  this,  not  yet  deciphered.) 
v:-  *  -jr  *  *  jgjj  none.  They  consider  that,  our  stage, 
of  no  suitable  furniture — no  way  bettered  by  half  light — 
[the]  rivall  of  palmie  G[r]eece  or  proud  Rome  when  at  th' 
pinacle  of  glorie.  Mine  had  for  a  period  lesse  honour,  as 
you  without  any  doubt  know  quite  wel — in  truth,  not  on 
accompte  of  the  season  or  such  well  known  or  feigned  rea- 
sons. You  should  assuredly  also  find  al  these,  an'  so  tli' 
true  name  these  plays  must,  at  some  remote  epoch  of  th' 
worldes  great  history,  wear,  when, — my  first  Cypher  letter 
having  bene  made  an  epistle  of  wishes  my  f aithefuU  fr'end 
must  fulfil, — they  have  bene  published  as  the  fruict  of  many 
yeeres. 

But,  at  this  writing,  saf 'ty  is  .as  much  enda'ger'd  by 
accompting  on  such  Cipher  disguising,  as  at  anie  past  daye, 
as  a  surly  curre  keepeth  on  with  espionage  or  questiongs,  to 
give  us  mad  thoughts  o'  revenge,  making  it  as  difficile  as  may 
be  thought,  to  escape  his  eyes. 

It  must  send  Mr.  Robert  Cecil  on  one  errand  with  many 
a  sorrie,  idle,  and  fruictles  day  to  report  to  an  instigator, 
wily  as  he,  and  fully  as  slie,  but  it  must  preclude  the  possible 
renowne  I  might  some  dale  enjoy  thro'  these  sev'rall 
playes — as  I  manie  times  ere  now  have  made  cleere — if, 
in  time,  a  future  fr'end,  through  most  improbable  but  yet 
equally  desired  seeking,  as  my  discyph'rere,  into  many 
subtily  co'triv'd  de^dces,  cary  not  to  completio'  mine  owne 
good  work.  For  to  decypher  plays  will  much  incite  this 
'venturer.      Rare  is  such  royall  apparell  upon  so  strange 


RICHARD,  DUKE  OF  YORK.  19 

♦ 

inner  storie,  hid  like  a  crime.      Ay,  so  are  many  of  the 

Cipher  histories  relationes  of  ill.  Penne,  or  man  his  arte, 
doth  conima'd  visions  of  th'  dread,  infamous  actes  dreamt  of 
by  fiends,  yet  mark,  all  this,  amidst  so  truely  briitall  hor- 
rores,  hath  little  that  horrifies.  Soe  maskt,  shut  uppe,  hid- 
den, is  much  dread  evill.  Of  truth  the  nearnes  at  present 
doth  now  oppres  hartes  noe-wise  affected,  but  it  doth  requite 
labour  since  'tis  soe  true. 

Th'  tardie  epistle  shal  turne  over  an  unknowne  leaf  of 
the  historic  of  our  land.  Presto,  mark  what  words  this  strange 
epistle  thrust  out.  Th'  booke  herein  hidd'n  hath  th'  names 
in  middest  o'  the  other  parts  o'  those  writers  suppos'd  t'  pro- 
duce th'  plaies  here  mention'd.  ]Xone  in  fact  were  so  created, 
having  come  from  but  a  si'gle  braine,  that  o'  him  not  long 
herein,  or  amidst  men  that  dar'd  state  an  unpopular  thing, 
shewne  as  such.  Her  Majesty  surely  put  great  weight  upon 
th'  vain  and  empty  theories  of  th'  seeres  she  most  wish'd  to 
have  cast  her  horoscope.  These  made  so  great  "hate  in  our 
hearts  agay'st  th'  men  who  fed  a  most  unwomanly  notion — 
renowne  as  Maiden  Queene — as  to  make  us  feare  our  owne 
thoughts.  Knowing  well  her  hatred  of  th'  desire  o'  my 
fathe',  by  one  other  sin, — which  tho'  more  dire  indeed  then 
others,  work'd  to  give  me  th'  presidence  mine  in  right, — 
made  to  bee  cognisant  of  his  duty,  I  have  plac'd  it  i'  Cyphre. 

F.   B. 


FRAxYCIS  BACOI^. 

A    DECLARATION    OF    THE    TREASONS    ATTEMPTED    AND 

COMMITTED  BY  THE     EARL     OF     ESSEX. 

1601. 

I  write  mildly  of  so  terrible  events,  so  galli'g  memories 
of  fifteene  such  woful,  ay,  sucK  dre'dfull  dales,  'tis  limn'd 
i'  iire  on  gloom  of  th'  night  or  daye,  Essex,  thy  murther. 
To  sharper  clamours,  stifled  cries  or  piteous  moans  are 
added,  and  my  eares  heare  Robert's  voyce,  soe  entreati'gly,, 
opening  sealed  dores,  hau'ting  all  dreemes,  gre'ting  everie 
daie  that  doth  dawne  on  our  home. 

As  wee,  wrong'd  enf an's  of  a  queene  no  wilful  rebelion 
must  raise  (up)  its  pow'r  upon,  the  heires,  by  law,  to  gold  of 
most  umbr^tike  crowne,  to  pow'r  wholly  royale,  lov'd  by 
created  men — th'  first  wrecking  th'  surer  honor  and  naturall 
empire  put  upon  him,  that  knowledge  and  consequently  a 
wider  ki'gdome's  rule  thorow  knowledge  be  gained — also 
th'  heyres  of  honor,  next  in  ranke  to  soveraigne  power,  made 
effort  to  win  a  promise  and  assura'ce  of  this  right,  our  royall 
aspirations  received  a  dampening,  a  checke  soe  great,  it 
co'vinc'd  both,  wee  were  hoping  for  advanceme't  we  might 
never  attaine. 

It  may  bee,  and  some  holde  it  excusation,  my  Lord,  his 
ambition,  received  the  spurre  in  th'  failure  of  soe  reasonable 
dema'ds.  It  is  undeniable, — I  must  say,  to  make  these 
things  as  plain  to  all  as  it  could  bee  if  hee  himself  e  repeated 
these  sentences, — his  originall  planne  much  more  inte'ded 
my  plaine  right  the'  his  owne,  but  I  refused  to  liste  to  th' 

20 


TREASONS  BY  THE  EARL  OP  ESSEX.  2l 

charmer  in  th'  ill-deserving,  ill-succeedi'g  designe,  so  that 
some  such  fiery  rebellion  on  the  Earle,  his  part,  was  perhaps 
onely  a  manifestation  by  waye  of  bragging  shews  or  many 
flaunts  of  various  intents,  that  not  I,  but  my  gayer  brother 
was  the  darling,  or  the  minion,  of  our  people,  specially  of 
th'  Citie. 

How  it  was  overthrowne,  dissprov'd,  shattered,  not  Cipher 
epistles  have  related  in  this  mark'd  sort,  for  lacke  of  oppor- 
tune houres  to  work,  but  it  may  be  read  in  the  body  o'  the 
present  booke.  But  least  soe  evill  a  rumour  shall  rise  that 
this  record  should  bee  quite  made  waie  with  or  bee  after- 
wards supprest,  every  truth  must  bee  in  a  frame,  inside  a 
verie  greatly  dift'ering  work. 

By  mine  unsuspected  small  devices,  his  story  may  be  pre- 
serv'd,  that  my  newer  capitals  seen  plainlie,  as  anie  eye  that 
look'd  but  keenly  must  surely  by  this  time  have  noted,  lesse 
valew'd  matter  may  co'vey.  The  capitalls  of  a  part  of  some 
of  th'  stage  plays  are  often  thus  twice  servi'g  these  secret 
works.  When  this  that  is  now  bei'g  discyph'red  hath 
reach'd  completion,  I  have  this  request  to  prefer  that  th' 
minor  Cypher  may  bee  us^d.  It  proveth  that  a  little  of  one's 
reward,  derived  as  such  bee  from  gaining  information,  may 
revive  one's  courage  soe  that  hee  do  his  longer  taskes  with 
pleasure. 

Whilst  I  write  all,  I  se  most  cleerly  not  my  owne  folly 
but  my  sinful  weaknesse  like  as  it  must  in  the  sight  of  one 
Divine  and  Supream  Judge  of  all  creatures  apeare.  In  the 
blindnesse  and  confusio',  th'  moment's  question  loom'd  up 
before  me  and  blotted  out  love,  honor,  all  th'  joyes  of  the 
past  or  dreames  of  farre  ofPe  fame.  Th^  briefe  duration 
much  outvalewed  Eternity  itselfe.  It  is  sad  to  looke  back, 
yet  sadder  to  co'template  th'  future.     All  my  late  brothe' 


22  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OP  FRANCIS  BACON. 

hazarded  will  not  so  much  linger,  or  it  may  be  said,  have  soe 
much  waight  in  such  thoughts,  as  my  owne  evermore  accu- 
mulating and  abundant  evidence  o'  th'  unhappy  effects  of 
his  rash  doings. 

Her  Majestie's  regard  and  favour  was  by  uoe  means  ours 
on  account  of  our  secret  claime.  It  should  rather  bee  noted 
as  a  mark'd  law,  I  may  say  without  timorousnesse,  the  onely 
shews  of  th'  affection  shee  might  be  suppos'd  to  manifest, 
sham'd  us  that  they  were  understood.  Time  to  tell  whence 
this  came,  doth  serve,  as  I  am  desirous  that  th'  curse 
o'  this  realme,  hid  so  long,  be  made  clear,  yet  shal  I  use.  a 
most  blinde  waie,  and  oft  make  sudden,  unwisht,  unprofit- 
able change  to  allowe  a  seeker  t'  thinke  it  somethi'g  of  almost 
as  smal  worth  as  th'  wo'derfully  curious  devices  wee  have 
heard  it  said  much  occupied  people  of  a'cient  ^Egipt.  But 
the  device,  soe  well  is  it  manag'd,  doth  holde  as  in  imperish- 
able amber  the  story  given  in  this  way. 

Que.  Elizabeth  and  Robert,  th'  Earle  o'  Leicester,  were 
join'd  lawfully  in  wedlock  before  my  comming.  Essex  who 
was  also  sonne  unto  Her  Ma.  and  a  brother  bred — bone, 
bloud,  sinnewes  as  my  owne — was  sentenc'd  to  death  by  that 
mere  and  my  owne  counsel.  Yet  this  truth  must  at  some 
time  be  knowne ;  had  not  I  thus  allow'd  myself  e  to  give  some 
countenance  to  th'  arraignement,  a  subsequent  triall,  as  wel 
as  th'  sentence,  I  must  have  lost  th'  life  that  I  held  so  ]irice- 
lesse.     Life  to  a  schola'  is  but  a  pawne  for  mankind. 

FR.       B. 


LONDON  PRODIGAL.  33 

SHAKESPEARE  QUARTOS. 

'      .  LONDON  PRODIGAL. 

1605. 

Do  not  pause  for  a  moment  to  delve  'mid  Cyphers  where 
rules  put  forth  in  the-Bi-literall  possesse  whatever  directions 
you  might  need. 

It  is  not  far  off  or  undisciph'red  drama  hath  such  a  proof, 
and  methods  that  in  manie  ways  sliew  all  our  subtile  intri- 
cate inventions,  but  such  as  doth  have  on  th'  severall  partes 
printed  one  or  other  of  the  various  pen-names  used.  'Not 
^^schylus,  not  Plautus,  must  be  studied  in  this  Avork, 
and,  as  hath  bene  in  Ciphars,  many  times  over  said  to  our 
assistant,  th'  storie  this  worke  co'taineth  cannot  in  anie  othe' 
Cypher  be  seen  in  its  full,  naked,  unblushing  truth,  for  in 
some  plays  we  blench'd  somewhat,  this  story  our  love  staieth 
soe  long  upon. 

In  each  great  part  that  wee  slial  bring  into  the  world  of 
reading  or  thinking  men,  from  this  to  our  finis,  th'  tale  may 
be  fou'd, — th'  saddest  in  anie  or  all  th'  known  languages, — 
the  historic  of  tli'  Earle  of  Essex,  our  brother.  It  is  scat- 
t'red  with  a  lavish  hand  through  th'  manie  and  varied  plays 
which,  in  divers  names  are  published,  fro'  th'  numerous  un- 
sign'd  yet  mark'd  or  sealed  manuscript,  and,  as  time  may 
suit,  are  to  be  deciph'red,  and,— after  our  owne  part  have 
most  o'  th'  secrets  fitly  hidd'n  there, — so  brought  out  that 
men  o'  th'  future  ^Eones  must  know  our  birth  and  parentage. 

When  one,  decypheri'g  so  many  different  workes,  shal 
write  a  story  oft  as  th'  same  shall  appeare,  woe  worth  the 
hour!  JN'one  can  attempt  history  soe  reiterate,  and  this, 
deeyphr'd,  must  straight  bee  tried,  and,  as  gold  that  shall 


24  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OP  FRANCIS  BACON. 

adorne  Solomon,  his  temple,  haA^e  all  which  can  dim  its  glory 
taken  forth.  It  shall  be  neyther  more  nor  lesse  tho'  so  tried ; 
our  designe,  from  th'  mome't  it  was  conceiv'd,  being  to  put 
great  and  importa't  secrets  in  everie  part  o'  these  works,  that 
a  decipherer  shall  not  by  any  fault  or  omissio'  o'  ours,  come 
short  of  manie  wonderful  truths.  Make  this  such  entire  and 
suitable  history,  none,  who  liking  our.pen  greatly  rejoice  to 
see  this  work,  shal  find  it  d'ficiente  eene  by  a  word. 

FR.  BACON. 


FKANCIS  BACO^\ 

OF  THE  ADVANCEMENT  OF  LEARNING. 
1605. 

Take,  reade!  it  is  sore  necessity  that  doth  force  me  to 
this  very  dry  and  also  quite  difficile  Cyphar  as  a  way  or 
methode  of  transmission.  Seldome  (though  occasionalie 
in  th'  bright  but  infrequent  verse)  lines  of  a  published 
booke  may  artfullie  come,  plact  in  my  Cypher  amongst 
new  matter;  for  all  this  bi-literall  may  do,  shall  be  as  an 
helpe  and  aide  to  my  former:  one  must  eary  on  the  other. 

Therefore  as  you  cease  to  be  attracted  by  one,  you  may 
folow  another,  but  I  am  most  assur'd  that  my  long  labor, 
spent  making  such  small  devices  with  this  scope,  end,  and 
ayme,  when  completed  and  put  out,  boldlie  given  forth 
under  my  signature  or  in  some  other  name,  shall  have  full 
recompence  of  reward. 

As  one  findeth  that  which  doth  already  exist  in  his 
minde — a  pre-notion — more  quickly,  and  will  more  .readily 
arrive  at  th'  goal  when  he  doth  keepe  his  eyes  on  it,  see 
shall  my  discipherer  make  farre  more  advancement,  keep- 
ing steadilie  on  with  my  aide,  nere  turning  aside  with  a 
wand'ring  eye. 

It  is  for  his  advantage  or  benefitt,  also,  that  th'  lines 
that  I  have  mention'd  shall  occasionally  come  to  view;  th' 
prenotion  being  thus  form'd  greatly  asisteth  many  times, 
and  doth  ayde  th'  eye  to  see  th'  symboles  (signes)  to  shew 
my  discyphere'  works  of  my  penne  in  concealme't,  or 
rather  in  masque  or  disguise. 


26  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

My  stage  plaies  have  all  beene  disguis'd  (to  wit,  many 
in  Greene's  name  or  in  Peele's,  Marlowe's,  a  fewe,  such 
as  th'  Queene's  Masques  and  others  of  this  kind  published 
for  me  by  Jonson,  my  friend  and  co-worker)  since  I  relate 
a  secret  history  therein,  a  storie  of  so  sterne  and  tragick 
qualitie,  it  illie  suited  my  lighte'  verse,  in  the  earlier 
workes. 

It  surely  must  proove  that  they  are  the  work  of  my 
hand  when  you,  observing  this  varietie  of  forms,  find  out 
th'  Cyphar  soe  devis'd  to  ayde  a  decipherer  in  the  study 
of  th'  interiour  historie.  By  the  use  of  this  Bi-literall 
Cypha',  or  the  highest  degree  of  Cyphar  writing,  I  may 
give  not  meerely  simple  plain  rules  for  such  matters,  but 
also  some  hint  that  may  bee  of  use,  or  an  exa'ple. 

It  is  fame  that  all  seeke,  and  surelie  so  great  renowne 
can  come  in  noe  gthe'  studie:  if  therefore  you  commence 
th'  study,  the  lawrell  must  at  some  future  day  be  bestow'd 
upon  you,  fOr  your  interesse  must  dayly  groAV  and  none 
could  winne  you  awaye. 

On  mee  it  doth  impose  a  great  labour,  but  the  part  you 
shall  doe  shall  be  much  lighter.  It  is  many  dales,  (ay, 
best  part  o'  a  yeare  now)  th'  worke  that  is  before  you 
hath  beene  in  hand:  noe  wonder,  then,  that  'tis  a  weari- 
som'  taske  and  somewhat  drie.  It  would  weary  the  veriest 
clod:  whe',  however,  it  shal  be  completed,  my  joy  will 
exceede  th'  past  wearinesse. 

Soone  it  can  but  be  scene  that  I  have  undertaken  great 
labour  in  behalfe  of  men  for  the  furder  advancing  of 
knowledge,  awaiting  a  time  when  it  shall  bee  in  everie 
language  as  in  our  owne,  but  that  this  may  be  kept  to 
other  ages  we  may  use  th'  Latine,  since  our  feare  is  often 
excited  by  th'  want  Ave  note  in  this,  th'  English,  of  a  degree 


IN   ADVANCEMENT   OF   LEARNING.  37 

or  measure  of  stability  or  of  uniformity  of  its  construc- 
tion; and  also  many  changes  in  usage  shewe  it  is  wise  to 
use  for  a  monument,  marble  more  lasting. 

Still,  so  gTeat  is  our  love  for  our  mother-tongue,  wee 
have  at  times  made  a  free  use,  both  of  such  words  as  are 
consid'r'd  antique,  and  of  stile,  theme,  and  innermost 
spiritt  of  an  earlier  day,  especially  in  th'  Edmunde  Spenser 
poemes  that  are  modelled  on  Chaucer;  yet  th'  antique  or 
ancient  is  lightly  woven,  as  you  no  doubte  have  before 
this  noted,  not  onlie  with  expressions  that  are  both  comon 
and  unquestionablie  English  of  our  own  dale,  but  fre- 
quently with  French  wordes,  for  the  I^orman-French 
William  the  Conqueror  introduced  left  its  traces. 

Beside  nought  is  furder  from  my  thoughts  then  a  msh 
to  lop  this  off,  but,  on  the  contrarie,  a  desire  to  graff  more 
thoroughly  on  our  language,  cutts  that  will  make  th'  tree 
more  delightsome  and  its  fruits  more  rare,  hath  oft  led 
me  to  doe  the  engrafhng  for  my  proper  selfe. 

Indeed  not  th'  gemmes  of  their  language  alone,  but  the 
Jewells  of  their  crowne  are  rightfullie  England,  her  in- 
heritance. 

Furthermore  many  words  commonlie  used  in  different 
parts  of  England,  strike  th'  eare  of  citizens  of  townes  in 
southerne  England  like  a  foreine  tongue,  combinations 
whereof  make  all  this  varietie,  that  I  finde  ofttimes  melo- 
dious, againe  lesse  pleasing,  like  the  commingling  of  coun- 
trey  fruites  at  a  market  faire.  Yet  you,  seing  the  reason, 
approve,  no  doubte,  th'  efforts  I  make  in  the  cause  of  all 
students  of  a  language  and  learning,  that  is  yet  in  its  boy- 
hood, so  to  .speake. 

The  inwarde  motive  is  noble,  onlie  as  it  cometh  from  a 
pure  love  of  the  people,  without  a  wrong  or  selfish  thought 


28  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

of  my  right  to  rule  this  kingdome  as  her  supreme  gov- 
ernour:  but  this  deathlesse,  inalienable,  roiall  right  doth 
exist. 

Queen  Elizabeth,  the  late  soveraigne,  wedded,  secretly, 
th'  Earle,  my  father,  at  th'  Tower  of  London,  and  after- 
wards at  th'  house  of  Lord  P this  ceremony  was  re- 
peated, but  not  with  any  of  the  pompe  and  ceremonie  that 
sorteth  wel  with  queenly  espousals,  yet  with  a  sufficient 
number  of  witnesses. 

I,  therfore,  being  the  first  borne  sonne  of  this  union 
should  sit  upon  the  throne,  ruling  the  people  over  whom 
the  Supreame  Soveraigne  doth  shewe  my  right,  as  hath 
beene  said,  whilst  suif'ring  others  to  keepe  the  royall 
power. 

A  foxe,  seen  oft  at  our  Court  in  th'  forme  and  outward 
appearance  of  a  man  named  Robert  Cecill — the  hunch- 
back— must  answer  at  th'  Divine  Araignment  to  my 
charge  agains'  him,  for  he  despoyled  me  ruthlessly.  Th' 
Queene,  my  mother,  might,  in  course  of  events  which  fol- 
low'd  their  revelations  regarding  my  birth  and  parentage, 
without  doubt  having  some  naturall  pride  in  her  offspring, 
often  have  shewne  us  no  little  attenntion  had  not  the 
crafty  foxe  aroused  in  that  tiger-like  spiritt  th'  jealousy 
that  did  so  tormente  the  Queene,  [that]  neyther  night  nor 
day  brought  her  respite  from  such  suggestio's  about  my 
hope  that  I  might  bee  England's  king. 

He  told  her  my  endeavours  were  all  for  sov'raigntie  and 
honour,  a  perpetuall  intending  and  constant  hourlie  prac- 
tising some  one  thing  urged  or  imposed,  it  should  seeme, 
by  that  absolute,  inhere't,  honorably  deriv'd  necessitie  of 
a  conservation  of  roiall  dignity. 


IN   ADVANCEMENT   OF   LEARNING.  39 

He  bade  lier  observe  the  strength,  breadth  and  com- 
passe,  at  an  early  age,  of  th'  intellectual  powers  I  displaied, 
and  ev'n  deprecated  th'  gen'rous  disposition  or  graces  of 
speech  which  wonne  me  manie  friends,  implying  that  my 
gifts  would  thus,  no  doubt,  uproot  her,  because  I  would, 
like  Absalom,  steale  awaie  th'  people's  harts  and  usui-p  the 
throne  whilst  my  mother  was  yet  alive. 

The  terrors  he  conjur'd  up  could  by  no  art  be  exorcised, 
and  many  trialls  came  therefrom,  not  alone  in  youth,  but 
in  my  earlie  manhoode. 

Neyther  one  supposed  th'  horror  each  dreem'd  of — ^th' 
last  of  the  mindes  waking  notiones  and  th'  one  that,  draw- 
ing th'  darke  curtaines  as  night  departed,  had  enter'd  with 
th'  light  each  morning — would  take  forme  of  th'  other 
oifshoot,  th'  favourite  heyre,  Robert — at  th'  time  known 
onelie  by  th'  borowed  cognomen  of  Devereux,  Earl  of 
Essex:  yet  it  indeed  was  hee,  who,  as  though  th'  booke  of 
their  suppositions  or  feares  was  to  him  the  one  that  con- 
tain'd  easie  lessons  in  treason,  at  last  let  loose  th'  dragon. 

For  a  short  space,  this  rebellion  of  th'  Earl  of  Essex 
hardly  shewed  as  such,  having  beene  by  the  counsel  of  his 
friends,  kept  wisely  backe  when  he  purpos'd  landing  a 
large  bodie  of  souldiers  at  Milford  Haven,  expecting  many 
to  joyn  his  forces  as  they  mov'd  on  towards  London,  and 
contenting  th'  proude  soule,  swelling  to  bursting  in  his 
breast,  by  taking  forth  two-hundred  of  his  choycest  spirits 
to  give  a  show  of  greatnesse  and  aide  him  in  th'  secret 
projects  that  hee  was  hatching. 

His  planne  was  nothing  lesse  than  [a]  mad  designe 
to  take  possession  of  th '  Court;  his  assistants,  Davers, 
Davis  and  Blount,  being  well  known,  might  e'ter  unchal- 
lenged with  a  sufficient  number  of  aydes  that,  scatter'd 
about,  should  likewise  cause  no  remarke;  at  th'  given  signe 


30  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

they  were  to  seize,  without  confusion,  th'  halberdes  of  the 
guard,  take  stand,  each  in  his  previously  assign'd  place — 
one  to  holde  the  guard- chamber,  one  to  possess  himself  of 
the  hall,  and  a  third  to  keepe  watch  at  the  gate — whilst 
Essex  should  enter  th'  presence  chamber  and  virtually  get 
possession  of  the  Queene,  under  the  pretense  of  complain- 
ing that  certaine  of  her  advisers  and  informers  were  his 
mortall  enemies,  and,  maki'g  bold  to  desire  Her  Ma. 
should  bring  these  men  to  triall,  should  promptly  name 
some  who  were  neither  wanting  in  good  favor  nor  deficient 
in  courage  to  occupy  the  places  so  made  vacant.  Then 
was  Parliament  to  be  call'd  to  make  concessions,  and  the 
citty  itselfe  to  be  under  his  controle. 

,This  planne  knowne  perfectlie  to  Southampton,  the 
chiefe  of  his  frends,  manifestely  suited  that  aventurous 
assistant  well,  but  it  failed  in  execution  as  we  know. 

The  unwonted  stir  in  all  quarters,  while  Earle  Robert 
had  th'  measure  of  liberty  he  enjoied,  made  Her  Majesty 
watchful;  also  the  assembling  from  every  county  of  Eng- 
land of  noteworthie  men,  nobilitie  and  militarie  being 
chiefely  observ'd — not,  however,  throngs  but  slowe  gath- 
erings as  though  one  drewe  afterwards  another — escapt 
not  her  eie,  whereuppn  the  guards  at  Court  were  made 
aware  o'  danger  and  th'  numbe'  doubled.  Report  therof, 
coming  to  the  Earle  of  Essex,  greatly  excited  his  feares 
least  his  plot  had  beene  discovered,  and  hasten'd  the  end. 

From  th'  first,  my  lord  of  Essex,  whose  whole  thought 
clung  to  his  originall  planne  of  seizing  th'  Tower, — rely- 
ing upon  th'  inspector  of  the  ordinance  who  had  vowed  to 
surrender  the  keyes, — and  afterward,  from  such  point  o' 
vantage  surprising  and  possesing  th'  cittie,  attempted  to 
winne  th'  favour  of  the  Protestants  overtlie,  and  of  his 


IN   ADVANCEMENT   OF   LEARNING.  81 

Jesuit  acquaintances  covertly,  promising  the  latter,  I  am 
trulie  informed,  that  he  would  restore  the  Catholick  faith, 
and,  as  his  innermost  being  was  mightily  sway'd  by  imag- 
ination, I  tliinke  he  persuaded  himselfe  that  hold  on  the 
people  was  sufficient  to  carry  out  these  simpler  plots, 
whilst  hee  doubted  Her  Majestie's  graces  would  under- 
mine a  hope  built  on  th'  faith  and  affection  of  th'  gentle- 
men that  were  among  his  companie;  therefore  hee  deter- 
min'd  that  a  surprise  would  be  attended  by  too  many 
dangers,  and  trusting  greatly  to  the  love  of  th'  citizens, 
fell  backe  on  their  ayde,  'Twas  th'  Candlemas  term  ere 
his  plan  was  soe  farre  digested. 

His  liberty  being  little  restrain'd  he  had  ample  and 
constant  meanes  of  carrying  on  his  plans.  As  he  was  not 
confin'd  to  his  chambers  at  Court,  it  was  necessary  to  send 
for  him  when  he  should  appear  before  the  councill,  but 
when  this  was  done  my  lord  boldly  refus'd  to  go,  and 
straightwaye  disseminated  a  rumour  that  in  going  thither 
in  the  evening  he  was  set  upon  and  nearly  drowned  by 
Cobham,  th'  tool  of  Sir  Walter  Ealeigh,  and  Sir  Walter 
himselfe. 

But  unfortunatelie  this  tale  was  frequently  varied  by 
th'  Earle,  and  at  one  time  hee  did  give  out  that  four 
Jesuits  had  made  an  attack  f oure  dales  before,  for  the 
same  or  similar  purpose.  This  weaken'd  his  case  so  much 
that  but  few  came  at  his  call  when  he  went  forth  bidding 
them  arm  and  fight  for  their  king. 

In  truth  he  saw  not  many  people  out,  for  Her  Majesty 
tooke  the  wise  precaution  to  give  order:  "Arm  and  waite 
in  readinesse  within  for  th'  call." 


32  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

But  with  him  were  now  not  lesse  than  fifteen  score  of 
the  prineipall  gentlemen,  a  company  well  chosen,  contain- 
ing on  th'  part  of  th'  nobility,  Earls  of  Routland  and  of 
Southampton,  Lords  Sandes,  Mountegle,  with  others;  be- 
hind him  he  had  left  Earle  of  Worcester,  Lord  Keeper, 
Lord  Chief  Justice,  Her  Majestie's  Comptroller,  and 
beare'  of  th'  Seal, — who  had  come  to  meet  Earle  Robert, 
— themselves  enduring  imprisonment  in  his  house,  but 
they  remain'd  not  long  in  duresse. 

Th'  tour  of  th'  citty  being  well  nigh  made,  my  lord's 

party  met  Her  Ma.'s  troopes  led  forth  by  th'  Admirall. 

Blount  was  wounded,  Tracy  kill'd;  then  my  lord  return'd 

to  his  owne  house,  and  baricading  the  two  great  gates, 

defended  th'  house  on  all  sides,  but  it  ^val'd  not  long. 

First  hee  begg'd  for  th'  safe  co'duct  of  th'  Countesse,  then 

surrendered. 

SIR  F. 


SHAKESPEARE  QUARTO. 

KING  LEAR. 
1608. 

Xo  one  in  whose  spirit  is  no  love  of  pow'r,  will  know  th' 
nature  of  th'  flame  i'  my  wikle  spirit.  Th'  death  of  recent 
date,  speaki'g  in  a  comparative  way,  of  my  mother  Queene 
Elizabeth,  should  put  me  upon  th'  royal  ehayre  of  England, 
because,  borne  in  lawfull  wedlocke,  I  am  by  th'  rights  of 
birth,  true  sov'raigne. 

I  aske  only  justice,  but  Divine,  ay,  God-giv'n  rig't. 
Honor  that  had  by  precedent  usage  and  by  lawe  long  apper- 
tayn'd  unto  the  first  borne  soiine  to  the  sovereigne,  was 
denied  me  in  the  life-time  and  in  direct  pursuance  and  fulfil- 
ment of  the  Avishes  of  Her  Majesty,  my  mother.  Noe  fame 
could  holde  up  brighte'  temptation  than  this  that  hath  most 
oft  beene  refus'd — power,  and  in  tra'sf erring  our  scepter  to 
the  King  of  Scotland,  Her  Majesty's  intention  and  wish  was 
to  put  it  where  it  could  not  be  raught  by  anie  outstretcht 
arme. 

Beating  in  my  braine  with  this  injustice,  which  the  yeares 
can  have  no  soothing  influence  upon,  there  is  a  memorie  of 
that  fate,  by  farre  more  sad,  cruell,  and  unjust  then  this,  met 
hr  rash  Robert. 

It  must  be  acknowledg'd  that  th'  crime  for  which  hee 
Rufer'd  could  not  any  wise  be  palliate  by  his  past  services  or 
bravery,  but,  had  a  signet-ring  that  hee  did  desire  to  present 
reacht  Elizabeth,  Robert,  th'  sonne  madly  lov'd,  might  have 
receiv'd  a  roiale  remitment,  inasmuch  as  it  was  her  well- 
known  seal  and  token.  This  did  faile,  however,  to  act  as 
peace-maker  as  it  came  not,  for  good  reason,  to  Her  Majesty's 

ss 


84  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

eyes.  Dredf  ul  was  her  passion  of  anger  and  lier  bootlesse  sor- 
row of  hart  on  finding  that  our  proud  hero  had  so  stoopt,  and 
was  not  met.  As  hee  had  beene  led  to  bel'eve  he  had  but  to 
send  the  ring  to  her  and  th'  same  would  at  a  mome't's 
warni'g  bring  rescue  or  relief e,  he  reived  vainly,  alas!  on 
this  promis'd  ayde. 

A  bitter  griefe  it  was,  not  the  lesse  because  he  was  farrc 
dearer,  as  you  know,  tho'  but  a  younger  child,  then  one  as 
worthy  her  love  who  is  th'  heire. 

Tt  shal  bee  well  depicted  in  a  play  and  you  wil  be  in- 

structted  to  discypher  it  fully,  as  soone  as  suits  with  such 

duty  as  e'grosseth  you  now.     Keepe  at  the  great  Cipher 

ev'n  when  th'  plavs  bee  ended. 

SIR  FRA.  B. 


KING  HENRY   THE   FIFTH. 
1608. 

Stay  in  this  work  to  get  your  first  directe  rule  relating  to 
lines  or  verses  which  were  much  employ'd  at  the  beginning 
as  aydes  in  tlie  work  that  had  not  advanced  farre  towards 
co'pletio'.  Vergill,  with  all  of  my  most  cherisht,  or  revered, 
of  poets,  ITomer,  I  have  made  to  serve  my  designe  as  there 
could  hardly  so  much  bee  divided,  mangled,  cut,  liewen  or 
lopt  if  noe  penne  sav^e  my  unskilled  quill — for  I  was  yet 
youthfull — prepar'd  i'teriour  materiall. 

This  new  contr'vance  also  lack'd  some  guide  or  hand  in 
order  to  shew  th'  way,  meandering  in  tortuous  farre-reach- 
ing  course,  in  all  bookes  that  I  designed,  and  at  that  time  I 
liad  great  feare  tliat  no  sharp  eye  would  note  aught  th'  key, 
or  such  name-wordes,  purport.  How  to  disguise,  but  at  th' 
same  instant  give  unmistakable,  manifold  instructio's  was  a 
grave  but  very  constant  quaere  with  me  that  with  manie 


IN  KING  HENRY  THE  FIFTH.  85 

excellent  plannes  and  by  diverse  repeated  lesser  experiments 
in  time  sloAvly  brought  the  desir'd  but  dificile  responde't 
contrivance — an  inge'ious  waie  by  which  lines  and  frag- 
ments of  scatt'r'd  storys  are  collected  as  in  their  original 
forme. 

Scholars  of  great  note  have  this :  AVhen  aniething  new 
hath  bin  shewn  them,  they  recognise  in  it  that  which  they 
alreadie  know,  rathe'  then  they  will  discover  that  they  know 
not;  ther'fore  I  have  emploied  these  translations  for  the 
benefit  of  such. 

FRA'CIS   FIRST  OF  ENGLAND. 


PERICLES. 
1609. 

This  is  simply  another  portio'  greatly  occupying  a  plaie 
too  poor  to  work  to  our  true  or  permanent  renoune.  In  it 
were  these  shames,  (foul  horrors  we  fain  leave  unfinisht 
while  fairer  portions  may  be  found)  that  are  base  as  aught 
th'  rude  countrey  hindes  bee  suppos'd  to  thinke  as  fit  for 
creatures  human  as  for  any.  As  indeede  this  horror  wee 
give,  merely  doth  repeat  th'  horror  to  be  found,  this  is  our 
argumen' ;  none  will  aske  another,  for  a  storie  paining  as  'tis 
told  hath  beene  a  weary  eno'gh  relation  without  any  liselesse 
third  and  fourth  time  telling. 

It  may  win  true  acclamations,  real  or  just  applause,  or 
greater  blame;  M^hich  it  may  be  is  not  knowne  at  present, 
but  wee,  an  historian,  must  needes  write  that  which  is  true 
if  it  bee  good  or  nere  so  ill,  and  must  hold  a  glasse  up  to 
others  that  none  may  taint  with  a  slime  like  this  th'  fountayn 
of  his  life. 


36  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

But  doe  not  forget  to  seeke  for  your  Cipher  poemes  such 
as  th'  two  poemes  of  noble  Homer,  his  most  worthy  verse, 
and  those  great  Virgill  gave  manki'de,  also  our  Pastorale  of 
the  Christ,  with  a  fantasy,  and  sev'rall  that  have  lesse  im- 
porte  but  are  stil  worthy,  meth  ought,  to  keep,  for  the  excel- 
lence sustayn'd  through  poems  now  used  only  in  workes  that 
are  written  in  Cypher  shal  aide  one  when  these  shall  be 
brought  forth  t'  shew  their  authorship.  But  work  must  not 
cease  with  poems  herein  nam'd,  so  much  time  hath  beene 
given  to  th'  writing  o'  diverse  plai's,  nine  o'  which  shall  have 
a  time  of  dark  dayes  without  a  future,  if  such  an  eager  seeker 
be  never  scene  as  is  visible  to  th'  eye  of  our  minde. 

Howere,  great  is  our  co'fidence  in  some  name  as  well 
knowne  to  Him  who  governeth  al  as  is  our  name,  and  it  shall 
be  united  to  ours  at  last  as  our  writings  shall  be  brought  t' 
th'  light  so  that  one  may  sec.     Heede  !     These  are  words  of 

FRANCIS  BACON,  KT. 


HAMLET. 
1611. 

Our  new  play  hath  breasted  th'  wave  so  galantlie,  so 
brightly,  a  thrill  runneth  thorow  minde,  spirit,  and  heart, 
and  great  joy  beateth  in  artyries  even  as  in  our  earliest 
youth. 

To  man,  his  sight,  forthwith,  our  secretes  were  submit- 
ted, yet  no  eie  but  ours  seeth  our  interior  history  hid  not 
lesse  in  workes  sucli  as  th'  one  now  in  your  emploie,  then  in 
many  much  more  worthie  of  note,  through  a  timely  atten- 
tion to  most  of  old  Atlas,  his  cheefe  slips,  or  errata.  This 
should  not  be  understood  to  bee  anie  Atlas  to  whom  in  the 
antient  time  was  committed  th'  waight  of  our  world,  but 


IN  HAMLET.  37 

one  wee  designate  thus  foolislilv,  since  it  doth  entirely  de- 
pende  on  him  to  superintend  his  own  worke  of  printing,  the 
correction  of  so  much  matter  co'taini'g  bi-form'd  letters 
havi'g  bin  all  we  could  attempt.  Some  things  in  a  follow- 
ing editio'  may  be  altered  but  wee  depende  on  our  decy- 
ph'rer,  as  in  recognition  of  the  merits  of  our  stage-plaies,  at 
some  day,  not  verie  long  after  our  history  hath  bin  decy- 
ph'red,  to  collect  these  all  into  one  tome. 

It  shall  bee  noted  in  truth  tliat  some  greatly  exceede  their 
fellowes  in  worth,  and  it  is  easily  explained.  Th'  theame 
varied,  yet  was  alwayes  a  subject  well  selected  to  convey  the 
secret  message.  Also  the  plays  being  given  out  as  tho'gh 
\\Titten  by  the  actor  to  whom  each  had  bin  consign'd,  turne 
one's  genius  suddainelie  many  times  to  suit  th'  new  man. 

In  this  actour  that  wee  now  emploie,  is  a  wittie  veyne 
different  from  any  formerly  employ'd.  In  truth  it  suiteth 
well  Avith  a  native  spirrit,  humourous  and  grave  by  turnes  in 
ourselfe.  Therefore  when  wee  create  a  part  that  hath  him 
in  minde,  th'  play  is  corresponsively  better  therefor.  It 
must  bee  e^ddent  to  our  friend  and  co-worker  that  these  later 
dramas  are  superior  in  nearlie  all  those  scenes  where  our 
genius  hath  swaie :  these  Cyphers  do  much  limit  th'  expres- 
sions of  th'  exteriour  part  and  when  narration  predominates, 
genius  f  eeleth  the  rein  that  doth  governe  th'  movements  and 
th'  course. 

With  feelings,  reveries,  and  contemplation,  it  is  quite  dif- 
ferent, and  tbe  interiour  story  aydeth  in  th'  production  of 
these  exteriour  plays  when  they  have  sway. 

FRANCIS    BACON 

(RIGHTFUL)  R. 


38  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OP  FRANCIS  BACON. 


TITUS   ANDRONICUS. 
1611. 

Few  thought  an  adoptive  heire  and  supposed  sonne  to  Sir 
Nicholas  Bacon,  wrote  stage-plays  and  it  was  to  make  onelv 
our  deeypherer  know  of  our  new  drama  that  we  publisht 
ought  without  the  so-call'd  author's  name  upon  the  page. 
But  knowing  also  that  truth  crushed  by  its  one  strong 
enemy,  errour,  commeth  up  in  fresher  vigour,  whilst  truth 
in  obscurity  hidden,  oft  remai'eth  long  enwrapt  from  sight, 
most  playes  wee  had  sent  out  before  our  new  one,  had  the 
stile  or  name  of  an  actor — he  who  wil  put  it  foorth — but 
anon  the  one  who  bringeth  it  on  our  stage. 

Rules  for  that  other  Cipher, — of  thing'  found  at  the 
present  day  best  for  interiour  stage-plays,  in  some  degree 
like  and  rivaling  th'  diverse  exteriour  drapings, — will  bee 
giv'n  soone,  as  we  wish  th'  storie  in  that  way  most  ple'santlie 
concealed,  disciphered  and  made  cleere  to  all  upon  the  earth. 
So  great  wrongs  must  bee  sette  right,  here,  else  posterity 
may  not  bee  richer,  as  shall  concerne  knowledge  of  English 
historic  of  our  times,  then  most  of  this  dull  generation. 

Very  few  know,  to-day,  th'  injustice  done  us  by  the  late 
Queene  of  our  most  powerfull  realme — Elizabeth  of  Eng- 
land— ^for  she  was  our  owne  royale  mere,  the  lawfull  wedded 
wife  to  the  Earle  of  Leister  (Leicester,  as  oft  it  will  be 
found)  who  was  our  true  sire,  and  we  the  heire  to  crowne  and 
throne  ought  to  wield  her  scepter,  but  were  barr'd  the  suc- 
cession. We  should,  like  other  princes,  the  first  that  blest 
that  royale  union,  succeed  the  Queene-mother  to  soveraig'ty, 
but  punished  through  the  rashnesse  of  our  late  artfull 
brother  this  right  shal  bee  denied  us  f  oraver. 


IN   TITUS   ANDRONICUS.  3» 

We  can  win  bayes,  lawrell  gyrlo'ds  and  renowme,  and  we 
can  raise  a  shining  monumente  which  shall  not  suffer  the 
hardly  wonne,  siipremest,  crowning  glory  to  fade.  iS^ere 
shal  the  lofty  and  wide-reaching  honor  that  such  workes  as 
these  bro't  us  bee  lost  whilst  there  may  even  a  work  bee 
found  to  alforde  opportunity  to  actors — wdio  may  play  those 
powerful  parts  which  are  now  soe  greeted  mth  great  ac- 
clayme — to  winne  such  name  and  honours  as  Wil  Shake- 
speare, o'  th'  Glob'  so  well  did  win,  acting  our  dramas. 

That  honor  mu?t  to  earth's  finale  morn  yet  folow  him, 
but  al  fame  won  from  th'  authorshippe  (suppos'd)  of  our 
plays  must,  in  good  time, — after  our  owne  w^orke,  putting 
away  its  vayling  disguises,  standeth  forth  as  you  only  know 
it, — ^bee  yeelded  to  us. 


EDMUND  SPENSEE. 

SHEPHEARDS  CALENDER. 
1611. 

Two  parts  of  my  booke,  which  I  set  before  my  last 
works,  may  be  placed  behind  everie  othe'  as  you  arrange 
the  whole  to  decypher  your  instruction.  I  speake  of  Pros- 
opo.  and  th'  Faerie  Qu.  but  the  other  parts  must  stand 
thus,  as  here  you  finde  them.  Let  all  the  remainder  be^ 
work'd  first,  as  they  ayde  in  the  writing  of  my  brother's 
history  which  was  begunne  in  the  second  part,  or  book,  that 
doth  commence  one  of  my  great  workes  of  Scyence  and, — 
continued  in  the  little  work  stiled  The  Wisdome  of  the 
Auncients,  and  taken  up  in  this  poeticall  worke  that  is  re- 
published for  this  purpose, — maketh  a  compleat  abridge- 
ment of  the  history  given  fully  in  the  great  Cypher. 

As  hath  bin  said,  many  importante  papers  having  beene 
destroyed  by  the  Earle,  many  fe'tures  of  their  plot  were 
never  brought  out,  E.  Essex  himselfe  saying,  "They  shall 
be  put  where  they  cannot  tell  tales."  But  evidence  was 
sufficient  to  prove  th'  guilt  both  of  my  brother  and  Earl 
of  Southampton.  Essex,  his  plea,  that  hee  was  not  present 
at  the  consultation  that  five  treason-plotting  noblemen 
helde  at  Drury-house,  ayded  him  not  a  whit,  for  his  asso- 
ciates incriminated  him,  and  such  of  their  writings  as  had 
not  beene  destroyed  were  in  the  handwriting  of  my  lord  of 
Essex,  as  was  shewne  at  the  triall,  and  they  were  acting  as 
hee  directed. 

How  like  some  nightes  horrible  vision  this  triall  and 
awful  torture  before  his  execution  must  ever  be  to  me, 

40 


IN  SHEPHEARDS  CALENDER.  41 

none  but  the  Judge  that  sitteth  aloft  can  justlie  knowe. 
All  the  scenes  come  before  me  like  the  acted  play,  but  how 
to  put  it  awaye,  or  drive  it  back  to  Avernus,  its  home,  O, 
who  can  divulge  that  greatest  o'  secrets?     jSTone. 

This  thought  onely  is  fraught  with  a  measureles  pain, 
that  all  my  power  can  doe  nought  for  his  memorie.  If  hee 
had  but  heard  my  advice,  but  he  heeded  his  owne  unrea- 
soni'g  wishes  only.  Whilst  succeeding  barely  in  this  at- 
tempt to  so  much  as  winne  a  hearing,  yet  did  th'  true 
love  I  bore  soe  moove  mee  that,  from  my  care  o'  Essex,  I 
tooke  a  charge  that  greatly  imperil'd  my  personall  preten- 
sions, as  I  did  occupy  my  utmost  witt,  and  even  aventure 
my  own  fortunes  with  th'  Queene,  to  attempte  th'  reinte- 
gi-ation  of  his. 

This,  however,  though  it  had  th'  will  to  doe  Essex  great 
benefitt,  was  truely  little  lesse  harmful  unto  my  lord  Eob- 
ert  of  Ewe,  I  may  now  admit,  then  to  me.  Queene  Eliza- 
beth, my  mother,  yeelded  nought  upon  the  questio',  tho'  'tis 
knowne  commonly  that  persuasions  swayed  her  often,  (;ven 
when  object  seem'd  as  armed  agaynst  it.  Yet  this  dispo- 
sition was  not  paramount  when  I  made  my  plea  in  behalf 
of  him,  whom  loving  trust  haplie  kept  in  checke  when  a 
word  of  dubitancie  would  pricke  as  with  a  spurre.  Thus 
the  breach  between  my  haplesse  kinne  widen'd  and  nothing 
may  close  it,  for  a  tombe  doth  silence  both. 

Vantages  acompted  great,  simply  as  th'  uncertaine 
dreames  or  visiones  of  night  seeme  to  us  in  after  time. 
Ended  now  is  my  great  desire  to  sit  in  British  throne. 
Larger  worke  doth  invite  my  hand  then  majestic  doth  offer: 
to  wield  th'  penne  doth  ever  require  a  greater  minde  then 
to  sway  the  royall  scepter.  Ay,  I  cry  to  th'  Heavenly 
Ayde,  ruling  ore  all,  ever  to  keepe  my  soule  thus  humbled 
and  contente. 


42  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

O  Source  infinite  of  light,  ere  Time  in  existence  was. 
save  in  Thy  creative  plan,  all  this  tragedy  unfolded  before 
Thee.  A  night  of  Stygian  darknesse  encloseth  us.  My 
hope,  bannish'd  to  realmes  above,  taketh  its  flight  through 
th'  clear  aire  of  the  Scyences,  unto  bright  daye  with  Thy- 
selfe.  As  Thou  didst  conceale  Thy  lawes  in  thick  clouds, 
enfolde  them  in  shades  of  mysterious  gloom,  Thou  didst 
infuse  from  Thy  spirit  a  desire  to  put  the  day's  glad  worke, 
th'  evening's  thought,  and  midnight's  meditation  to  iinde 
out  their  secret  workings. 

Only  thlis  can  I  bailish  from  my  thoughts  my  beloved 
brother's  untimely  cutting  off,  and  my  wrongfull  part  in 
his  tryall.  O,  had  I  then  one  thought  of  th'  great  change 
his  death  would  cause, — how  life's  worth  would  shrinke. 
and  this  world's  litle  golden  sunshine  be  but  as  collied 
night's  swifte  lightning, — this  had  never  come  as  a  hound 
of  th'  hunt  to  my  idle  thoughts. 

As  it  is  now,  the  true  meaning  of  events  is  loste  to  me. 
The  heavens  declare  God's  glory,  but  Scripture  doth  speak 
nowhere  of  His  will  being  thus  declared.  In  order  to 
undertake  this,  our  mindes  must  bee  inclin'd  to  His  in- 
struc'ion. 

This  abridgement  is  now  ended.  By  the  ayde  of  the 
notes  given,  work  out  this  history,  for  if  this  be  lost  my 
history  will  also  bee  unfinisht,  so  close  my  path  lay  by  his. 
This  you  duelie  have  noted. 

Besides  our  secret  storie  no  correcte  one  shall  be  left,, 
as  Her  Ma.,  takeing  a  liking,  early,  of  my  writings  upon  a 
part  of  late  negotiations,  required  a  species  of  justification 
o'  th'  course,  (which  none  surely  shew'd)  carried  it  indeed 
so  as  in  man,  his  sight,  Robert  is  helde  abhorr'd;  but  I  th^ 
clerk,  did  the  writing,  or  acted  as  Secretary,  th'  report  fully 
satiating  everyone. 


IN  FAERIE  QUEBNE.  48 


FAERIE   QUEENS. 
1613. 

Some  want-wit,  may  be,  desiring  note,  if  it  uproot  all 
love's  fibres,  would  have  welcom'd  such  a  taske;  so  truly, 
did  not  I,  for  to  me  it  grew  to  be  more  indirect,  less  honor- 
able, so  to  put  forward  my  dear  lord,  his  misdeedes,  at 
Quecne  E — 's  beheast  though  I  did  it  but  at  her  expres 
commands,  and  always  as  a  Secretary  to  Her  Majesty. 
Verilie  scarce  a  worde  remained  unaltered.  The  language, 
even,  was  not  wholly  such  as  I  wish'd  to  use,  as  all  was 
subjected  to  her  painefully  searching  scrutiny,  and  manie 
a  sentence  did  her  weake  fear,  her  dread  of  execratio',  make 
her  weigh  and  alter  whilst  her  jealousie  culFd  out  my  every 
name  of  th'  noblemen  who  were  charged  with  a  lack  o' 
loyalty,  and  th'  stile  that  I  emploied  when  I  said  ought 
concerning  Robert.  For  my  honorable  and  just  stile  of 
Earl  of  Essex  and  of  Ewe,  as  "my  lord  of  Essex"  and  ''my 
lord  Eobt.", — on  many  a  page  similar  names  and 
tearmes, — Her  Ma.  would  suggest  that  it  be  meerly  plaine 
Essex,  or  in  place  of  that  "th'  late  Earle  of  Essex."  It 
approov'd  itself  to  her  in  such  degre,  that  my  first  bookes 
were  suddainely  and  peremptorylie  supprest  and  (and) 
printed  according  to  commande,  de  novo,  thereby  only  th' 
sure  proofe  giving  of  a  judgement  sharp  on  his  lordshipp's 
illes,  but  subtile  concearning  her  owne;  and  assuredly  th' 
world  may  see  that  though  she  might  be  excelent  in  great 
matters  she  was  exquisite  i'  the  lesser. 

So  much  did  some  earlie  worke  on  this  noblest  among 
noble  youthes,  our  brothe'  Robt.  annoy  th'  Queene,  we 
manifested  a  willingnesse  to  suppresse  it,  and  because  of 
soe  doing  were  at  some  losse.to  continue  our  work.     To 


44  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

this  secret  device,  or  invention,  the  world  doth  owe  most 
gracious  thanks  for  a  large  part  of  his  historic. 

To  Sir  Clyomen  and  S.  Clamydes,  you  must  conjoyne 
Orlando  Furioso,  and  Alphonsu'  King  of  Arragon,  then 
Descensus  A — ,  Order  of  the  Garter,  The  Battayle  of  Alca- 
zar; add  next  David  and  Bathseba,  and  Edward.  For  this 
earlie  work  nothing  from  othe'  parts  neede  be  taken,  as  we 
made  an  attempt  about  that  time  to  put  th'  work  into  lesse 
space,  in  order  to  make  your  task  of  writing  th'  secret 
history  easy,  feari'g  )ny  labours'  losse  if  broadly  scattered, 
as  it  was  of  a  character  more  worth  to  me  then  to  my 
times,  and  not  of  a  secret  nature  after  page  three,  or  at 
most  two  o'  th'  first  leav's,  regarding  Robert's  true  name, 
and  certaine  matters  relative  to  his  adoption  into  the  kind 
family  whose  name — that  by  which  all  England  knew  him, 
excepting  th'  principall  actors  that  played  well  their  parts 
i'  th'  drama — noe  staine  had  touched  untill  this  blot  of 
treason  fell  on  it. 

He  was  one  of  the  adventurous,  valiant,  bolde  spirits 
not  easilie  hidden  in  any  place,  and  it  was  not,  therfore, 
unseemly  that  the  sonne  of  one  so  widely  and  favourably 
reputed  as  th'  first  Earl  of  Essex,  made  so  bolde  [as]  to 
wooe  th'  goddesse  Fortune  at  Court.  J^one  knewe  so  trulie 
as  Elizabeth,  our  proude  unbending,  roial  mere,  the  cause 
of  manie  of  our  willfuU  Essex'  orebearing  ways. 

Th'  knowledge  that  he  was  princely  in  truth,  despite 
pretense,  and,  whilst  at  Court  his  nominall  place  and 
standi'g  was  onelie  th'  Courtier's,  his  rightful  stile  was 
Prince,  th'  Queene's  lawful  sonne,  warm'd  into  life  and 
action  the  ambitions  that  were  his  inherited,  primal  in- 
stinct. 

How  far  he  ventured  upon  this  royall  prerogative,  this 


IN  FAERIE  QUEBNE.  45 

propper  right  of  favour  and  advancement,  historic  plainlie 
relateth,  yet  onelie  in  our  Cipher-historie  may  scales  be 
oped  that  guarde  the  secrets  hid  long  in  silente  halles:  for 
'tis  said,  walles  have  ears,  none  saye  walles  have  a  tongue, 
— trulie,  none  who  doe  visit  Courts.  Daring,  indeed,  the 
pen  that  can  write  a  royal  story,  tho'  it  be  in  Cyphe', — 
many  times  as  daring  he  that  doth  this  task  openlie.  There 
bee  fewe  who  will  attempt  it,  and  it  shal  not  be  by  their 
pens  we  shal  finde  out  the  result — dead  men  tel  no  tales. 

It  is  clear  to  my  minde,  the  Earle,  our  father,  hoped 
that  his  darling  wishes  relating  to  a  declared  heir  to  suc- 
ceede  to  the  throne,  were  neare  realization,  as  hee  observed 
the  advance  in  marked  respect  or  favour  th'  younger  sonne 
made  from  day  to  daie.  Our  vayne  mother  lov'd  his  bolde 
manner  and  free  spirit,  his  sodaine  quarrells,  jealousy  in 
soule  o'  honour,  strength  in  love.  She  saw  in  him  her- 
owne  spirit  in  masculine  moulde,  full  of  youth  and  beauty.. 
To  her,  fate,  a  turn  of  Fortune's  wheel,  had  given  th'" 
gift  of  royaltie,  and  th'  throne  of  mighty  England  was  hers; 
to  beestow  on  whom  her  heart  mought  choose.  Little  won- 
der that  false  fancy  sway'd  where  better  judgement,  in- 
fected, had  loste  power,  and  that  impatient  Lo.  L —  won 
nought  in  that  struggle  but  feare  and  distresse.  My  just 
claime  he  set  aside  liking  better  their  valiant  lion-heart — 
thus  they  tearm'd  him — howsoever  unmeete,  or  unjust. 

A  desire  t'  foyl  yeeldes  luride  light  on  everything  ther- 
after:  his  one  wish  ever  gleaming  brightlie  through  the 
clouds  of  pretense,  and  I  receive  my  Qu  from  that  alter'd 
appearance  of  th'  skies,  yet  doe  not  trulie  give  over,  as  he 
doth  suppose.  jSTot  withstanding  overtly  any  of  my  ill- 
advised  sire's  aspiring  purposes,  or  planus, — for  often  shall 
dissimulation,  though  a  faint  kind  of  wisdome  prove  verie 


46  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

good  policie, — yet,  in  th'  secrecy  o'  my  owne  bosome,  I  do 
still  hold  to  th'  faith  that  my  heart  has  never  wholly  sur- 
rendered, that  truth  shall  come  out  from  error  and  my 
head  be  crowned  ere  my  line  o'  life  be  sev'red. 

How  many  times  this  bright  dreeme  hath  found  lodge- 
ment in  my  braine !  how  manie  more  hath  it  beene  shunn'd 
as  an  influence  of  Pluto's  darke  realme!  It  were  impos- 
sible, I  am  assur'd,  since  witnesses  to  th'  marriage  and  to 
my  birth  (after  a  proper  length  of  time)  are  dead,  and  the 
papers  certifying  their  preasence  being  destroyed,  yet  is  it 
a  wrong  that  will  rise,  and  a  crye  that  none  can  hush. 
Strive  as  I  may,  it  is  onely  driv'n  from  my  braine  by  th' 
unceasing  tossing  of  this  sea  of  laboring  cogitations  for  th' 
advancement  of  learning.  Ofte  driven  as  'twere  with 
sodaine  wind  or  tide,  its  waves  strike  'gainst  the  very  vault 
of  th'  heav'ns  and  breake  in  uselesse  wreaths  o'  bubbling 
froth. 

Think  not  in  your  inmost  heart  that  you  or  any  others 
whom  you  would  put  in  the  same  case  as  ours,  would  mani- 
fest a  wiser  or  calmer  minde,  because  none  who  doe  not 
stand,  as  I  stood,  on  Pisgah's  very  height,  do  dream  of  the 
faire  beautie  of  that  land  that  I  have  seene.  England  as 
she  might  bee  if  wisely  govern'd,  is  th'  dream  or  beautious 
vision  I  see  from  Mt.  Pisgah's  loftie  toppe. 
■  It  is  noe  improper  exaltation  of  self e,  when  one,  feeling 
in  heart  and  brayne  the  divine  giftes  that  fit  him  for  his 
Princely  destiny — or  that  rightly  inherited  albeit  wronglie 
withholden  soveraignty — in  true,  noble,  kingly  spirit  doth 
looke  for  pow'r,  not  for  th'  sake  of  exercising  that  gift,  but 
that  he  may  uplifte  his  people  from  th'  depth  of  misery 
into  which  they  constantlie  sink,  to  th'  firm  rocke  of  such 
mode  of  life  as  would  change  cries  to  songs  of  praise. 


IN  FAERIE  QUEENE.  47 

You  will,  ere  your  work  be  eompleated,  see — either  in 
my  word  method  of  imparting  these  inner  epistles,  or  Avrit 
soe  plaine  that  none  shall  fayl  to  comprehende — a  form  or 
designe  of  a  modell  land,  as  anie  might  be  with  propper 
governoiirs;  but  you  must  tarrie  for  it  a  space,  inasmuch 
as  it  existeth,  as  yet,  but  in  my  thought. 

However  I  say  not,  wait  idly  till  we  carrie  this  to  its 
full  perfection,  since  a  great  part  remaineth  now  to  work 
out  from  these  various  Cyphers  that  I  heje  use,  and,  friend, 
to  cease  labour  now  would  truly  be  to  lose  that  history  that 
I  have  desired  above  every  other  work  to  write,  that  a  com- 
ing people  in  th'  future,  having  read  the  false  declaratio's 
made  in  writings  given  then,  blinding  eyes  to  deepe,  justlie 
censured  wrongs,  might  understand  motives  of  action  as 
well  as  the  true  historic  of  events. 

And  you  will  soone  observe  that  I  have  told  my  owne 
sad  story  with  the  same  openheartednesse  as  that  which 
revealeth  other  secrets  for  my  verie  soule  is  open'd  that  th' 
world  might  looke  on  it  and  reade  of  my  hard  lot,  having 
to  choose  between  life,  libertie  of  the  citty,  freedom,  and 
a  promise  of  future  recognizance  of  service,  and  th'  same 
for  my  dear  Robert. 

Eeasoning  that  no  pow'r  should  prevaile  with  her  Ma- 
jestic, I  felt  how  ill-advis'd  a  sacrifice  o'  life  and  its 
enchantments  must  be,  that  surelf  would  be  of  no  effect.^ 
I  have  spirit  of  sufficient  fire,  I  thinke,  for  such  hap  as  is 
probable  to  my  station,  not  enough  to  support  me  in  tor- 
ture, nor  to  lead  forth  anie  enfans  perdus.  Seeing  th' 
hopeless  state  treason-loving  Essex  was  in,  I  knew  I  had 
but  to  continue  my  plea,  urging  that  forgivenes  might  bee 
accorded  to  Essex,  to  close  th'  last  egi-esse  from  a  cell,  or 
lead  to  th'  gallowes.  Thus  was  my  way  hedged  about, 
thick  clouds  hid  th'  path  from  sight. 


48  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

In  the  last  stanzo  is  a  directio'  to  th'  next  following 
works  to  co'tinu  the  storie  thus  begun.  It  must  be  writte' 
before  any  othe'  for  'tis  most  co'plete,  and  interio'  writings, 
while  pleasing  when  discypher'd,  are  somewhat  wearying. 

As  work  of  anie  kind  was  meant  by  Him  that  impos'd 
the  curse  on  sinfull  man  to  be  ad  correctionem  et  non  ad 
ruinam,  it  will  benefit  us  both.  A  meete  punishment, 
trulie,  and  one  that  shall  in  turne  make  the  very  curse 
bless' d,  and  everie  man  most  envyde  who  can  say  as  doth 
your  attentive  friend :  This  hand  will  accompli'h  a  worthie 
labour  for  future  use,  which  shal  bee  the  monument  where 
th'  whole  of  these  studies  are  shewn  forth  and  deficiencies 
enumerated.  Since  it  doth  more  ayde  mankind  to  point 
out  what  is  lacking  then  to  prepare  all  your  woorke  so  that 
nothing  shall  longer  remaine  to  bee  found  out, — for  it  is 
man's  delight  to  find  out  mysteries,  but  th'  glory  of  God  to 
conceale  some  matters, — with  a  preside't  of  highest,  meas- 
urelesse,  supreme  wisdome,  is  a  divine  modell  for  man  to 
foUowe.  Nor  do  we  find  that  Holie  Scripture  hath  any 
prohibition  against  an  acquisition  of  knowledge  intended 
only  for  th'  world's  betterment.  He  who  is  not  against  us 
— it  is  noe  lesse  true  to-day  then  it  was  sixteene  centuries 
ago,  so  that  I  say,  nor  shall  it  aske  anie  further  explanation, 
noe  man's  hand  is  better  employ'd  then  his  who  searcheth 

out  a  hidden  matter. 

* 

If  you  continue  this  worke  to  the  end  you  shall  have 
reward  sufficient  I  think  to  advantage  you  as  well  as  ad- 
vaunce  my  invention,  and  make  knowne  my  historic  for 
th'  better  satisfaction  of  those  who  see  deeps  in  Engla'd's 
historic  that  have  th'  blood  of  her  sonnes  therein. 

A  Queene's  edict,  if  not  her  yron  hand,  killed  such  a 
man  that  for  valour  and  manly  spirit  was  unequal'd. 

FR.  BACON. 


BEi^  jonso:nt. 

1616  FOLIO. 

ENTERTAYNMBNT. 

Keepe  many  keies  and  joyning  wordes  in  minde,  that 
are  now  employ'd  in  my  Homer,  for  your  writing  will  pro- 
ceed faster  if  you  have  many  well  memorized  when  yon 
decypher  this  work.  Allthough  th'  parts  are  small,  and  a 
great  manie  workes  containe  the  scatter'd  portions,  it  hath 
th'  joy  and  somewhat  th'  excitement  of  sport — even  that 
of  th'  chase — in  pursuite,  therefore  doe  not  fall  out  by  th' 
waye  nor  allow  anie  to  passe  by  you,  as  it  doth  surely  ope 
to  you  a  path  as  wondrous  as  anie  that  doth  winde  through 
th'  fields  of  knowledge,  to  that  divine  hight, — ^in  view  long 
ere  th'  feete  may  attayn  unto  it, — upon  Olympus'  toppe. 

Oft  doe  I  muse  upon  th'  ultimity  of  this  Ciphe',  and  aske 
whose  hand  may  compleate  it.  It  may  be  that  of  some 
man  whom  dayly  I  have  seene  going  to  and  fro  in  th' 
martes  and  halls  of  th'  Citty.  It  may,  perchance,  be  some 
sharpe  spye  of  th'  court  whose  zeale  would  be  my  death. 
But  my  hope  is,  that  not  th'  yeares  but  th'  ages  shall 
unf  olde  my  secret  historic,  and  reverse  a  decision  that  hath 
beene  given  respecting  th'  Queene,  my  mothe',  my  owne 
birth-right,  and  many  othe'  things  of  interesse,  but  of  ev'n 
so  small  valew  as  that,  did  they  rather  conceam  th'  com- 
monalty then  royal  persons,  they  might  not  bee  read. 
However,  admiration  of  greatnesse  is  naturall.  Ev'n  the 
foibles  of  a  Queene  would  please  at  so  remote  a  day. 

BACON. 
49 


50  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 


KINGS  CORONATION. 

This  work  is  also  Bacon's,  intended  meerelie  to  ayde  in 
producing  some  parts  of  the  translations.  Some  have  beene 
found  repeated  too  often,  yet  as  the  partes  should  not  bee 
lost,  this  Entertaynment  was  devis'd  that  all  should  appear 
in  convenient  order.  Bee  not  too  hasty  in  condemni'g 
this  meanes  unto  my  end,  for  manie  were  th'  devices,  much 
th'  patience,  and  long  th'  houres  giv'n  to  the  work,  so  that 
very  little  might  bee  left  unfinish't  should  my  summons 
come  unexpectedly  at  midnight,  at  noon,  or  at  morning. 
It  was  done  with  an  eie  single  to  your  best  good.  Here  is 
no  strife  after  excellence  of  stile  and  diction,  but  an  effort 
in  your  owne  interesse. 

You  should  joyne  to  this  Entertaynment,  A  Panegyre, 
and  all  the  following  Entertaynments  in  their  naturall 
order.  B. 

A  PANEGYRE. 

There  is  more  Virgil  here,  but  a  part  is  Homer.  Marke 
keyes. 

BACON. 

MASQUES. 

In  Essay  Of  Masques  and  Tryumphs  you  may  see  this 
much  esteemed  device  mention'd.  In  my  plays  matters 
are  chosen  not  alone*  for  value  as  a  subject  to  heare  and  no 
longer  heed.  Each  play  is  the  meane,  or  th'  medium,  by 
which  cipher  histories  are  sent  forth.  Thus  all  will,  at  th' 
least,  serve  a  twofold  purpose,  and  in  Homer's  two  mightie 
workes  (as  in  Virgill's)  a  trebble,  for  we  treated  all  transla- 
tions in  th'  first  of  our  cipher  work  in  a  manner  very  like 


IN  MASQUES.  61 

that  we  followed  in  concealing  our  secret  historie,  but  you 
can  see  easily  that  th'  former  are  separated  into  a  greater 
number  of  parts.  This  was  necessarie  because  o'  th'  stories 
told  in  them,  that  could  not  be  used  in  large  portio's,  in 
Cypher  writing.  K"e'erthelesse  they  serv'd  well  their  pur- 
pose, which  was  to  emploie  this  method  of  transmitting,— 
as  it  is  my  invention,  possessing  th'  nature  of  simple  ques- 
tioning and  experiment, — and  to  preserve  my  works. 

I  wish'd  to  have  th'  translations  kept  untill  a  future 
race  of  men,  or  at  th'  least  scholars  of  our  owne  day  rathe' 
then  th'  commoners,  have  mark'd,  in  my  open  workes  under 
different  names,  a  certaine  stile  that  shall  prove  their  origin 
to  be  th'  same,  because  it  will  bee  impossible  to  deijypher 
them  fuUie  untill  all  th'  works  shall  be  conjoyn'd.  When 
this  is  done  and  all  th'  keyes  to  put  th'  parts  together  have 
beene  found,  seeke  th'  arguments  which  are  given  in  th' 
Bi-literall  Cypher,  and  th'  most  of  your  difficultie  shal  bee 
overcome. 

Do  not  turne  backe  untill  all  th'  secret  histories  shall 
have  been  written,  for  you  can  find  the  true  records  no 
where  else.  From  portio's  o'  my  Cypher,  secrets  which  the 
Queene  suspected  some  one  would  attempt  to  publish,  may 
bee  work'd  out  with  a  measure  of  skill,  patient  labour  and 
perseverance.  Those  who  shall  turn  back  meerely  to  avoid 
difficulties,  should  ever  look  to  have  none  of  the  prizes  of 
life.  Th'  Holy  Scripture  saith :  Whoever  putteth  his  hand 
upon  th'  plough  and  looketh  backe  is  -not  fit  for  th'  heav- 
enly kingdome;  nor  is  he  that  turneth  backe  from  this 
work  fit  for  th'  kingdome  of  knowledge. 

Th'  work  you  here  note,  i.  e.,  th'  Masques,  must  bee 
employ'd  in  writing  whole  portiones  of  th'  Iliads  that  were 
difficult  to  adapt  to  moderne  poetry  or  to  stage  plays.   This 


52  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

you  will,  I  doubt  not,  see  ere  this,  but  least  it  escape  your 
attention  I  have  mention'd  it  in  this  place  and  in  other 
parts  of  th'  work.  If  iterant  rules  should  weary  you 
beyond  endurance,  pray  remember  this:  the  work  is  as  a 
circle  with  no  apparent  beginning:  those  parts  written  first 
may  bee  last  found,  therefore  I  repeat  all  these  directions, 
and,  too,  I  would  fain  make  easier  th'  heavy  taske  impos'd 
on  you,  and  my  greatest  labour  hath  been  to  but  one  end — 
that  of  so  ayding  your  part  of  th'  work  as  should  assure  its 
successe.  If  once  well  understood  th'  chief  requiring  can 
bee  quicMy  seen  to  bee  perseverance.  Of  this  I  have  not 
lesse  neede  myselfe  then  my  decypherer,  as  this  must  be 
done  carefuly,  and  all  hath  beene  at  least  twice  written, 
as  my  cypher  work  or  th'  interior  letters  must  have  cov'ring. 
Th'  exterior  part  is  so  varied,  so  diverse  in  both  matter  and 
methods  of  treatment,  that  it  serveth  my  purpose  well,  con- 
cealing a  great  work  yet  also  revealing  th'  keyes  design'd 
to  open  th'  secret  portalls.  And  although  th'  waye  may 
sometimes  seem  like  an  endlesse  labyrinth,  you  cannot  f aile 
to  thrid  it  if  you  heede  my  rules. 

You  will  finde  as  you  progresse  that  I  have  made  your 
tasks  more  pleasing  then  at  first,  and  remember,  pray,  that 
your  owne  name  is,  or  must  yet  be,  inseparably  joyn'd  with 
mine:  therefore,  if  honour  cometh  to  me  by  my  wise  use  o' 
th'  heav'n  sent  talents  emploied  in  this  invention,  you  must 
share  in  th'  renowne.  It  is  to  none  other  I  may  looke  for 
ayde  to  bring  my  work  forth  to  men's  sight.  Your  hand 
may  roll  the  stone  away  from  the  door  of  the  sepulcher  and 
set  this  Cipher  free.  It  is  not  dead — it  sleepeth,  not  for 
four  short  dayes  like  Lazarus  of  old,  but  doubtlessly  for 
yeares,  perhaps  for  centuries.  Is  it  not  then  an  act  deserv- 
ing world-wide  fame?    Trust  mee  it  shall  not  faile,  but  in 


IN  MASQUES.  53 

every  land  in  which  the  English  language  hath  a  place, 
shall  it  be  known  and  honour' d. 

As  hath  already  been  said  Homer  (Iliads  and  a  great 
part  of  the  Odysses)  and  Virgil  (iEneid  and  some  of  the 
^glogues)  were  helpfull  to  me  when  this  invention,  of 
which  I  am  now  giving  the  historic,  was  at  first  emploied. 
Finding  that  this  might  be  foUow'd  with  ease  in  my  his- 
toric by  a  key  that  I  us'd,  I  then  foUow'd  a  similar  plan 
respecting  the  whole,  separating  it  into  parts  and  using 
these  fragments  after  th'  same  manner  in  all  the  workes 
that  I  publish'd  in  my  owne  (so  call'd)  name,  or  that  of 
others.  Spenser,  Greene,  Peele,  Marlowe  have  sold  me 
theirs, — two  or  three  others  I  have  assum'd  upon  certaine 
occasions  such  as  this,  beside  th'  one  I  beate  among  men. 

My  owne  should  be  like  that  of  my  mother — Tidder, 
since  I  am  sonne  to  th'  Queene  who  came  of  that  line,  and 
as  her  eldest  bom,  should  now  sit  in  her  throne  in  place 
of  him  whom  she  made  her  heire,  according  to  Cecill's 
report;  but  as  I  am  known  among  English  speaking  peo- 
ples by  the  name  you  (untill  now)  thought  to  be  rightfully 
mine,  i.  e.,  th'  name  of  my  foster  parents — Bacon, — it  is 
honourable  and  honored, — yet  have  I  vowed  to  make 
worthier,  greater,  and  more  renowned  either  stile,  then  it 
hath  beene  since  it  was  firgft  bestowed. 

The  voyce  of  Fame  should  be  as  lowd  as  thunder,  when 
she  doth  speake  of  me  in  comming  years,  for  all  my  labour, 
looking  toward  the  future,  would  bring  our  harvest-time 
when  our  dayes  are  not  upon  the  sphere  wee  now  inhabit. 
Shall  not  my  work  endure  while  Homer's  doth,  since  from 
it  I  have  form'd  here  a  beauteous  casket,  well-wrought, 
curiously  joyn'd,  with  Jewells  richly  set,  for  his  pricelesse 
gift,  no  other  having  such  beauty  and  worth?     Even  as 


64  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Alexander  when  he  was  given  that  rich  and  costly  casket 
o'  King  Darius,  commanded  that  it  bee  reserv'd  to  hold 
Homer,  his  two  bookes — the  Illiads  and  the  Odysses, — 
since  he  could  think  of  nothing  more  precious.  This  storie 
furnisht  me  a  pretext  and  suggested  the  plann  which  I 
forthwith  carried  to  perfection,  and  as  I  have  said,  it  so 
well  serv'd  the  purposes  of  the  great  Ciphe'  which  I  have 
been  teaching  you  that  I  have  never  regretted  the  experi- 
ment. 

When  th'  Masques — in  my  friend  Ben  Jonson's  name — 
with  Part  o'  th'  King's  Coronall  Entertaynment  have 
been  entir'ly  decipher'd,  take  Greene's  and  Peele's  workes 
in  th'  order  giv'n  in  th'  Faerie  Queene.  My  plaies  are 
not  yet  finishf,  but  I  intend  to  put  forth  severall  soone. 
However,  bi-literall  work  requiring  so  much  time,  it  will 
readily  be  scene  that  there  is  much  to  doe  after  a  booke 
doth  seeme  to  bee  ready  for  the  presse,  and  I  could  not 
well  saye  when  other  plays  will  come  out.  The  next  volume 
will  be  under  W.  Shakespeare's  name.  As  some  which 
have  now  beene  produced  have  borne  upon  the  title  page 
his  name  though  all  are  my  owne  work,  I  have  allow'd  it 
to  stand  on  manie  others  which  I  myselfe  regard  as  equall 
in  merite.  When  I  have  assum'd  men's  names,  th'  next 
step  is  to  create  for  each  a  stile  naturall  to  th'  man  that 
yet  should  [let]  my  owne  bee  scene,  as  a  thrid  o'  warpe  in 
my  entire  fabricke  soe  that  it  may  be  all  mine. 

^'End"  may  seem  to  any  decyph'rer  as  if  it  should  bee 

al,  vet  is  bv  noe  means  finall. 

F.  BACON. 


IN  SEJANUS.  65 


SEJANUS. 


Question,  or  some  other  form  or  manner  of  inquiry, 
and  answer  are  your  word-signs  by  which  you  may  worke 
out  my  secret  story  herein  co'cealed.  This  story  concerns 
some  of  the  chief  personages  of  th'  realme,  first  of  all, 
our  late  despised  parent,  th'  cause  and  th'  renewer  o'  th' 
ills  that  we  endured.  My  sole  object  doth  appeare  in  this 
later  work — the  play  of  Sejanus. 

None  know  half  so  well  as  I,  th'  underplay  carried 
along  in  court  in  order  t'  secure  my  withdrawall  from  an 
unexampled  field,  wherein  a  mother  strove  against  a  sonue 
whose  right  to  the  succession  to  th'  throne  she  did  ignore 
and  co'stantly  avoid.  Her  unbending  steme  temper, 
strong  in  death,  set  the  seal  upon  my  future  as  on  my 
past  life,  since  her  will  was  th'  law  governing  both.  My 
owne  spirit  alone  doth  atteste  how  potent  for  good  or  for 
ill  the  dicta  of  such  a  woman  may  bee. 

Here  alone  is  that  long  epistle  to  my  to-bee  decipherer 
that  must  be  most  observed  in  this  worke.  Seeke  it  out. 
Take  my  keies  and  unlocke  my  inner  chamber.  There 
will  my  hidden  secrets  be  revealed  fully,  that  he  that  shal 
willinglie  lift  the  heavy  vaile,  should  now  ope  th'  treasure- 
casket  which  contains  th'  story  of  my  life,  as  well  as  my 
late  brother,  his  death.  It  is  ev'n  with  wrought-ores 
thickly  covered :  gems  rare  and  costive  shine  upon  its  sides : 
in  the  small  room  within  you  will  find  uncounted  treasure, 
riches  beyond  your  dreames  of  earthlie  acquisition.  The 
whole  shall  be  the  reward  of  my  decypherer  and  will  repay 
most  generouslie  his  entire  devotion  to  this  labour. 


66  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

As  I  have  said,  our  newe  designe  shall  give  much  pleas- 
ure, while  it  so  amplie  rewardeth  the  true  worker.  Seeking 
after  any  learning  is  a  pleasure;  seeking  after  what  is  hid- 
den, a  delight, — none  soe  pure — forever  springing  up  in 
fresh  joj,  as  th'  water  of  a  meadowe  spring  gusheth  forth 
to  th'  light. 

My  next  work  is  not  begun  here:  much  of  it  shall  bee 
found  in  th'  playes  o'  Shakespeare  which  have  not  yet 
come  out.  We  having  put  forth  a  numbe'  of  plays  i'  his 
theatre,  shall  continue  soe  doing  since  we  doe  make  him 
th'  thrall  to  our  will.  Our  name  never  accompanieth  anie 
play,  but  it  frequently  appeareth  plainly  in  Cypher  for 
witty  minds  to  transla'e  from  Latine  and  Greeke.  As  this 
is  never  seen,  the  secret  still  remained  inside  its  treasure- 
house  unsought  of  every  one.  This  is  yet  hidden  as  in  dim 
shadowy  mists,  but  soone  shall  you  have  the  whole  of  th' 
most  worthy  parts  of  this  great  cypher-writing,  wrought 

much  more  finely  then  gold. 

FRANCIS  BACON. 


NOTE — The  preceding  five  divisions  were  written  by  Bacon. 
Jonson  was  the  author  of  the  remaining  works  in  the  1616  folio, 
but  Bacon's  Bi-literal  Cipher  Story  was  infolded  in  the  Italic 
printing,  as  explained  in  what  follows. 


IN  COMMENDATORY  POEMS.  57 


COMMENDATORY  POEMS. 


Eeade  some  plaies  by  our  Ben's  active  hand.  Whe' 
more  of  our  stories,  which  had  truly  fill'd  all  of  our  chief e 
plaies,  sought  more  room,  it  was  almost  more  then  penne  of 
one  man  could  do  to  prepare  such  bookes,  much  l6ss  write 
them  also.  Soone  he,  publishing  this  famous  work,  afforded 
us  this  waie  bv  which  th'  Bi-litterate  may  lead  all  our  deci- 
ph'rers  from  bookes  manie  a  suspecting  enimie  may  possiblie 
too  much  note.  Seeke  not  our  chiefe  of  Cyphers — th' 
Cypher  unfolded  by  this  nowe  in  use — untill  you  have  found 
our  play  of  Sejanus,  for  it  is  that  stage-play,  one  of  earlie 
date,  that  containeth  much  of  that  translated  poeme  wee 
nam'd  as  having  great  value.  It  is  spoken  of  more  than  once, 
that  it  be  well  imprest  on  the  minde,  (storie,  or  a  play  of  an 
early  day  having  no  charme  for  some  readers,)  insoemuch  as 
it  seem'd  a  work  not  unworthy  to  be  preserved.  See  that 
you  give  most  careful  1  heede  to  our  num'rous  words,  oft 
oecuri'g  to  give  our  patie't  friend  ayde,  and  let  passe  nothi'g 
without  observing  all  Avorthy  instructions.  Our  progresae 
is  along  a  devious  waye,  and  by  divers  quaint  devices  hath  a 
wondrous  storie — the  storie  ere  this  time  familiar  to  you  as 
one  o'  th'  nurserie  tales  wee  heard  in  our  childhood — ^beene 
related.  It  is  the  storie  of  our  owne  birth  a;id  parentage, 
which  must  be  given  to  other  ages. 

FR.  FIRST  of  ENGLAND. 

Puny  little  mindes,  th'  type  most  familiar  to  us,  take 
much  delight  in  talke,  Th'  surer  methode  to  secure  atten- 
tive ears  is  to  put  his  writen  works  in  such  a  peculiar,  or 
secret  form,   that  it  wakeneth  th'  curious  to  seeke  the' 


58  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

wherever  they  should  have  beene  hidden.  Whilst  I  do  not 
i'tend  to  put  my  Heaven-bestow'd  powers  on  this  plane,  'tis 
true  that  I  have  noething  in  eomon  Avith  vulgar  minde^^,  tliat 
[it]  is  our  Avish  to  have  our  Avords  heard,  nor  should  it  bee 
tho't  vanitie  since  it  is  not  alone  that  I  Avish  fame  amongst 
humankind,  in  such  thinges.  I  desire  that  the  time  to  come 
should  correct  the  errors  of  the  unfortunate  present,  but 
more  1  doe  not  hope  to  AAanne.     It  is  to  you  I  trust. 

Y'r  Serva't 

FR.  BACON. 

THE    FOX. 
(BEN  JONSON'S  CIPHER  LETTER.) 

FcAv  eyes,  unassisted,  will  take  proper  note  of  a  Cipher  in 
my  dedicatory  praef  atio,  intended  onely  to  make  more  room 
Avell  adapted  to  guard  thinges  secret,  whether  my  mater  or 
not.  My  Avrongs,  besides,  may  not  look  to  distant  dayes,  nor 
to  a  land  in  mid-sea — if  th'  Atlantis  be  fo'nd — for  redresse;, 
a  just  sentence  from  our  OAvne  countrey,  its  scholars,  is  my 
great  desire. 

But  my  friend,  by  whose  constantly  urged  request  I  use 
so  secret  a  way  of  addressing  the  decypherer  to  aid  him  in  a 
difficult  task,  trusteth  all  to  the  future,  and  a  land  that  is 
very  far  towards  th'  sunset  gate.  To  speake  more  clearly, 
I  write  to  ayde  my  friend  with  Avhom  I,  having,  in  truth,  his 
fame  in  heart  as  much  as  my  honour  and  dignitie,  often 
counselled  much,  but  could  deA'ise  no  Avay  by  Avhich  hee 
should  winne  his  throne  and  scepter. 

It  shall  bee  noted,  indeed,  when  you  uncover  his  stile,  my 
Avorks  do  not  all  come  from  mine  oAvne  penne,  for  I  shall 
name  to  you  some  plays  that  came  forth  fro'  Sir  F.  Bacon, 
his  worthy  hand,  or  head,  I  bein'  but  the  masque  behind 


IN  THE  FOX.  59 

which  he  was  surely  hid.  Th'  play  entitl'd  Sejanus  was  his 
drama,  and  th'  King's,  Queene's,  Prince's  Entertainments; 
the  Queene's  Masques  are  his,  as  also  th'  short  Paneg-yre. 
Heerein  you  see  the  names  hee  used  to  pointe  the  way  to  the 
various  workes,  but  I  use  no  signes  to  bring  them  more  into 
notice. 

When  you  looke  cursorilie  over  our  part  of  th'  volume, 
you  will  not  let  his  names  escape  your  eye,  but  will  seeke 
such  plays  hoping  to  finde  the  Cypher.  ]^J^ames  like  these 
have  this  use.  Fame  or  Glorie,  Keputation,  Fortune,  Na- 
ture, Arte,  Time,  Truth  and  Honour,  when  scatter'd  in  any 
of  our  workes  say  to  yovi,  "Look  for  things  hid  from  most 
eyes,"  for  wee  thus  ayded  in  his  Cypher  worke.  ,^ 

Yo'rs  most  dutifully,  ' 

BEN  JONSON-        , 

This  plaie  was  borowed.  I  could  work  to  turne  seekers, 
after  matters  which  were  hidden,  into  my  othe'  fieldes  and 
thus  cause  tliem  to  loose  the  s'ent.  Th'  instructions  I  have 
so  freely  strewn  throughout  my  work  must  give  my  ready 
dec^'pherer  sufficient  ayde,  as  I  doubt  not  his  eie  hath,  ere 
his  lesson  could  be  learned,  caught  such  signes  as  were 
named  by  my  friend,  Ben  Jonson,  in  his  dedication  of  th' 
work,  and  hath  well  guess'd  a  purpose  therby.  It  is  that  I 
may  write  out  my  sad  secret,  and  give  a  compleat  history  of 
our  owne  land  in  the  life  and  raigne  of  my  mother,  the  so- 
call'd  Mayden  Queene;  with  that  of  my  father,  th'  Earle  o^ 
Leicester;  my  brother,  th'  Earle  o'  Essex;  and  diverse  por- 
tions of  my  owne  story  that  are  important  as  parts  of  this 
secret  storie.  This  must  not  be  lightly  pass'd,  since  you 
wish  t'  get  a  true  recitall  of  most  deepe  and  dangerous  mat- 
ter, told  as  you  could  not  finde  it  elsewhere. 


60  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

It  were  a  man  both  bolde  and  foolhardy  that  should 
write,  or  publish,  in  his  time  such  dangerous  truth,  yet,  thus 
disgui'd,  it  requireth  lesse  boldnesse  and  more  perseverance; 
for  I  grant  it  seemeth  most  wearisome  worke  in  cyphering  as 
in  discyphering,  yea  tedious,  but  necessarie,  during  mine 
early  youth  and  manhood,  to  protecte  my  (v)  life  from  a 
thousand  threatning  calamities,  as  no  doubt  you  know,  hav- 
ing followed  our  mazie  Cypher.  Surely,  if  it  were  other- 
wise, I  should  be  working  to  noe  end  or  purpose.  These  are 
lost  labours  if  my  histories  be  not  found. 

This  containes  th'  abridgement  and  a  number  of  keyes 
of  one  part  o'  that  history  o'  Robert  Dudley,  my  father,  not 
included  in  the  play  spoken  of  in  diverse  othe'  letters.  His 
character  was  not  understood  by  those  with  whom  his  lot 
was  caste,  for  hee  had  more  than  one  closely  guarded  secret 
as  shall  bee  scene  in  time.  His  true  motif  in  many  subse- 
quent acts,  may  be  found  in  th'  premises  unknowne  to  th' 
writers  of  our  day. 

It  is,  I  doubt  not,  well  remembred  that  hee  suffer'd  im- 
prisonment because  he  was  in  a  measure  concern'd  in  the 
attempt  to  enthrone  Lady  Jane  Grey ;  yet,  being  at  length 
releas'd,  his  sun  of  prosperity  rose  high,  for  his  union  with 
Elizabeth,  afterward  queene,  made  him  first  in  this  king- 
dome,  next  to  this  royal  spouse.  But  not  being  acknowl- 
edg'd  such,  publicklie,  nor  sharing  in  her  honours,  my  poor 
father  was  but  a  cypher,  albeit  standing  where  he  should 
multiplie  th'  valew  of  that  one. 

A  suspicion  was  generall  that  th'  death  that  overtooke  his 
sweet  wife  could  be  laid  to  his  charge.  Aye,  a  treacherous 
stairwaye  betraid  her  step,  falling  beneath  lightsome  Amy's 
foot,  cast  her  violently  on  the  paling  belowe,  and  the  tidings 
of  her  demise  was  not  altogether  newes  to  one  whose  minde 


IN  THE  FOX.  '  61 

was  too  eager  to  heare  it.  To  divert  curious  questioning 
from  the  royall  union,  many  shiftes  and  turnings  were  a 
necessity. 

For  th'  space  o'  nineteene  or  twentie  yeares,  my  father, 
gay  court-idole  as  he  was,  guarded  his  secret  and  bask'd  in 
the  simshine  of  royall  favour.  By  degrees  he  was  giv'n  title 
and  stile  suiting  soe  vayne  a  minde  better  then  would  the 
weight  of  governement,  were  that  conferr'd  on  him.  Hee 
was  first  made  Master  of  th'  Horse;  this  gave  him  controule 
of  th'  stables,  and  gave  him  such  place  in  th'  royall  proces- 
sions as  he  very  truly  desired,  next  Her  Majestic;  also,  she 
conferr'd  upon  him  the  Order  of  the  Garter,  and  diverse 
other  markes  of  favour,  whilst  to  beare  out  their  stage-play 
untill  their  parts  should  be  done,  Her  Majesty,  most  like 
some  loud  player,  proclaim'd  Baron  Dudley,  Earle  of 
Leicester,  suitor  to  Mary  Queene  of  Scots,  and  at  all  *ad- 
monitory  protests  which  the  haried  husband  uttered,  this 
waieward  Queene  went  on  more  recklesslie. 

Therefore  we  must  marvell  to  see  him  later  claime  ad- 
vantage of  Her  Majestie's  bold  moode  to  take  another  part- 
ner to  his  bosome,  rightly  divining  that  she  would  not  shewe 
cause  why  such  an  union  could  not  be  fitly  consider'd  or  con- 
sumated,  but  venturing  not  upon  full  confession  thereof. 
However,  Her  Ma.  dwelt  not  for  long  in  ignoble  inactio' — 
the  force  that  she  gave  to  her  angry  denunciation  affrighting 
th'  wits  of  this  poor  earle,  untill  he  was  againe  turning  over 
expedientes  to  rid  her  of  this  rivall.  Suspicion  againe  fel  on 
the  misguided  man,  of  seeking  to  murther  th'  partner  of  his 
joyes,  but  Heaven  brought  his  owne  doome  suddenly  upon 
him.     So  doth  this  act  end. 


♦Silent  Woman. 


62  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

My  motlier  was  nearJie  distracted  with  griefe,  remorse, 
and  despaire  for  a  space.  Upon  my  brother,  his  returne,  to 
take  the  favorite's  place,  she  bent  on  Essex  th'  fonder  love  of 
her  heart  and  gave  much  gracious  attention  to  his  honor  and 
th'  furtherance  of  her  designes  regarding  him.  Indeed, 
much  harm  was  wrought  to  others  then  themselves,  for  great 
the  court  scandall  regarding  love  messages  betwixt  them,  as 
though  they  had  bin  mindfull  onely  o'  pleasure,  so  that  th' 
lords  of  her  councill  wink'd  visiblie  at  it,  least  it  enter  at 
their  eies;  for  'twas  dangerous  for  anie  onlookers  if  the  eye- 
sight were  keene  and  saw  behind  those  masques. 

*Tli'  men,  to-day  are  too  nigh  for  good  sight,  but  my  faith 
was  formally  pledg'd  to  write  it  as  I  believ'd  it,  I  may  say, 
knew  it,  not  blenching  nor  omitting  th'  sinne  of  either.  As 
hath  beene  said,  my  lord  of  Essex  presum'd  too  much  upo' 
secret  liking,  and  in  a  short  time  found  himselfe  lesse  hon- 
or'd  then  crost  or  chided.  Should  we,  therfore,  marvell  to 
see  him  haughtie  and  overbearing  when  chaft,  geniall  and 
gen'rous  when  smooth'd?  nor  so  much  as  doubt  this  swift 
change  upp  and  down  of  his  fortune  had  much  effect  upon 
his  spirit?  and  imagining  that  his  footing  were  secure,  fell 
from  safetie  into  great  danger  as  th'  astronomer  who  waa 
gazing  on  th'  heaven  to  study  the  stars,  fell  into  the  water? 

But  his  historie  is  contained  in  various  other  workes,  nor 
doth  my  deciph'rer  neede  furder  ayde  then  hath  beene  thus 
provided,  to  inable  him  to  write,  by  meanes  of  my  other 
great  Cypher.  Take  courage,  I  pray  thee,  and  continue  my 
prolong'd  writings  that  my  Cypher  relating  most  important 
thinges  shall  come  t'  th'  birth,  for  it  can  avayle  us  nought 
while  lying  conceal'd.     But  to  go  on. 


*The  Alchemist. 


IN  THE  FOX.  63 

Her  Majestie  soone  had  matters  of  great  importe  to  con- 
sider. Events  crowded  verie  close  upon  the  preceding,  and 
whilst  a  lion  watcht  in  strong  holds,  foxes  spoil'd  the  grapes, 
as  in  former  ^ons,  according  to  tradition. 

Th'  Armado  had  come  and  gone,  dispers'd  partly 
through  th'  readie  action  of  England's  seamen,  partlie 
thrdVigh  th'  tempest  o'  th'  flood,  but  Catholick  Spayne 
needed  still  a  warines,  subtle,  sleeplesse.  Many  o'  th'  olde 
faith,  as  it  was  then  stil'd,  remayn'd  in  different  portions 
o'  th'  countrie;  these,  yet  smarting  under  th'  blowe  to  th' 
hope  of  restoring  th'  Church  o'  Rome  to  supremacy  that 
th'  execution  o'  Mary  of  Scots  gave  them,  were  not  at  heart 
*good  subjects,  but  th'  spirit  and  daring  that  Elizabeth 
shewed,  had  effect. 

With  her  oreweening  passion  of  vanitie,  was  mingled  a 
stro'g  hatred  of  warre,  and  wish  to  outcraft  th'  enemies 
of  a  roial  government  whose  head  was  a  woman,  or  in 
common  speech,  not  of  the  ablest  sexe.  Events  duelie 
sanction'd  a  claime  to  th'  heart  of  Henry,  her  grandsire; 
for  Henry,  the  Tudor  who  most  upheld  th'  glory  o'  that 
line  o'  kings  of  which  hee  was  first,  was  a  mirrour  to  my 
mother  in  divers  things. 

This  history  is  contain'd  in  some  stage  plays  that  came 
out  in  Shakespeare's  name.  Ere  long  there  will  be  many 
of  like  stile,  purpose  and  scope  added  thereto,  which  shall 
both  ayd  and  instruct  you  in  th'  work.  This  should  make 
it  cleare,  e.  g.  *sixty  stage-plays  which,  in  varyi'g  stiles  that 
are  contrary  to  my  owne  well  known  stile  of  expression, 
whylst  for  more  of  our  lighter  work,  an  impenetrable  mask, 
for  a  history,  much  too  varied;  hence  these  great  plays 
have  bin  devis'd  which,  being  similar,  often  held  this  inne' 
history    therein   unsuspected.     This    wo'drously    co'ceal'd 

•Catiline. 


64  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

story,  ther'fore,  sheweth  how  history  repeateth  itselfe,  and 
simplie  shifting  the  scenes  doth  bring  in  new  actors  to  take 
th'  same  parts ;  soe,  where  the  names  only  being  altered  caus- 
eth  somewhat  of  doubt  within  you,  paie  no  heed  to  counsels 
of  such  sorte,  for  it  shall  soone  be  made  manifest  that  this 
is  th'  universall,  unalterable,  and  undeviating  lawe,  and 
all  must  yielde  to  its  governement.  All  are  borne  aifd  all 
die;  though  each  must  play  many  parts,  he  findeth  noe 
part  that  is  his  alone.  In  wise  Salomon  his  words: 
"There's  nothing  new  'neath  the  sunne."  Many  have,  it 
may  be,  acted  this  part  my  proud  mother  play'd — fewe  so 
successfullie. 

Goe  to  Jonson,  his  spicy  poemes,  cal'd  Epigrammes  that 
folow  where,  perhaps  "'seeing  herein  th'  sev'rall  keies  or 
guide-words  you  wil  thinke  these  my  worke,  but  as  my 
friend  said  in  his  most  pleasing  epistle,  when  they  come 
here,  my  decypherer  will  knowe  that  he  should  expect 
many  key-words  and  should  go  from  this  final  work  [to  one] 
entituled  by  him  Every  Man  out  of  His  Humour.  Passe 
to  Cynthia's  Re  veils  and  th'  Poetaster.  The  first  shall 
bee  last,  as  you  have  scene  ere  now  when  studying  th'  Holy 
Scripture. 

Your  keyes  are :  Earle,  Lord,  J^eicester,  Ay  me  Robsart, 
tyne,  report,  marrie,  othe,  priest,  Elizabeth,  Mayden  Prin- 
cesse.  Virgin  Queene,  hatred,  remorse,  death,  falling, 
treachery,  art,  amazement,  court,  feare,  train,  artfull, 
shame,  jalousie,  anger,  triall,  suspition,  favorit,  Mary,  Scot- 
land, France,  Ireland,  Spanish,  Infanta,  Philip,  Spaine, 
Master  o'  Her  Majestie's  Horse,  Order  of  th'  Garter,  coun- 
sellor,  Ayrshire,   London,   Elanders,   commander,    Dover, 

•Epigrams. 


IN  THE  FOX.  65 

L.  Duke  Alva,  Parma,  *Queene-motlier,  Paris,  French,  gal- 
lantry, courage,  glosse,  fate,  deathless,  marriage,  fury,  poy- 
son,  sacke,  intent,  wrong  loves. 

*Make  th'  keyes  thus  nam'd  in  Th'  Forrest,  your  guides 
to  sundry  othe'  parts  of  my  play  then  have  generally  beene 
put  out,  for  while  I  thus  may  hide  aides,  keies,  or  abridg- 
ments, I  feel  no  feare  of  discovery  and  proceed  calmlie. 
Witts  that  be  so  sharpe  and  keene  that  our  foxe  having 
none  other  covert  might  come  suddenlie  to  grief e,  shall  by 
the  device  here  adopted  fayle  to  s'ent  it.  Yet  are  we  in 
good  hope  that  my  faithful  interpreter  will  understand 
how  hee  shall  bring  it  forth,  but  the  play  shall  not  bee  us'd 
except  for  directions  in  Bi-letter  Cyphar  (because  it  hath 
but  that  Cyphar)  being  from  my  friend,  his  worthy  penne. 
You  have  decyphered  it  already  if  you  have  followed  our 
turnes. 

I  have  little  myselfe  to  do  except  give  directio'  unto 
your  work,  my  writi'gs  being  chiefly  sent  foorth  at  this 
time  which  bee  readie  for  printing.  How  soon  my  story 
of  mj  owne  life  shall  lack  but  obit,  I  know  not.  Manie 
others  are  compleated,  as  I  think  must,  out  of  doubt,  bee 
well  known  to  you — th'  most  that  our  endeavors  could,  by 
consta't,  tirelesse  labours  put  forth.  Yet  hath  my  plann 
many  worthy  things  of  accompt,  or  of  mark,  yet  to  com- 
pleat  in  my  various,  and  dayly  growing  fields.  But  no 
doubt  a  part  must  be  put  upo'  hands  that  we  trained  to  our 
work  but  by  a  patient  reiteration,  much  like  our  instructor's 
in  th'  elementary  learning  of  oiu'  childhoode. 

Time  must  bee  carefullie  hoarded  by  one  who  would  use 
a  Cypher  in  his  publisht  works,  for  his  labour,  multiplying 


*The  Forrest.  *Everj'  Man  Out  of  His  Humor. 


66  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

thereby  from  once  writing  to  two  or  three,  tryeth  the  spirit 
sorelie,  and  reqnireth  soe  much  leasure,  that  fewe  would 
pursue  it  soe  long  as  I  have  done,  and  fewe  have  soe  great 
cause,  as  you  know. 

And  yet  I  have  also  emploied  my  Cyphers  for  other 
then  secret  matters  in  many  of  my  later  bookes,  because  it 
hath  now  become  so  much  an  act  of  habite,  I  am  at  a  losse 
at  this  present,  having  lesse  dificile  labour,  now,  then  in 
former  times  in  Her  Ma.'s  service.  My  owne  study  is  not 
(for  my  Cyphar  writings)  omitted,  and  lesse  estimated,  but 
most  diligent  work,  I  se,  is  ever  delightful  for  mankinde 
and  their  benefit. 

The  lacke  of  my  just  honour  and  dignity  oppresseth 
little,  if  my  minde  l)e  constantly  set  upon  others  besides 
myselfe,  nor  can  any  pow'r  but  th'  Divine  make  man's 
heart  happie  or  sad.  ''!Minde  is  the  true  kingdome,  ever,'' 
in  the  words  of  the  song  my  friend  quoteth  most  aptly,  and 
my  constant  hope  is  to  atchieve  as  much  greatnesse  therein, 
and  win  as  much  honour,  as  would  belong  to  me  by  right  of 
my  greater  birth, — as  th'  world  maketh  its  accompt  of 
pow'r  or  desert, — then  is  suppos'd  mine.  You  surely  must 
know  I  am  by  right  of  bloud.  King, — no  other  then  th' 
true,  right  or  proper  inheritour  o'  th'  Crowne.  I  am  per- 
suaded one  who  should  work  soe  patiently,  hath  found 
manie  a  revelation.  As  unto  myselfe,  I  have  layd  my  every 
planne  open  herein,  and  as  shall  bee  scene,  spare  my  pride 
not  at  all,  in  relating  the  story.  Polity,  doubtlesse,  would 
counsell  the  suppression  of  some  of  this,  but  it  suiteth  mee 
to  put  thoughts  as  freely  heere  as  I  would  inscribe  them 
in  a  private  booke  noe  eye  but  this  might  reade. 

In  order  to  conceale  my  Cypher  more  perfectly  I  am 
preparing  for  th'  purpose  a  sette  of  alphabets  in  th'  Latino 


IN  THE  POX.  67 

tipe,  not  for  use  in  th'  greatest  or  lengthy  story  or  epistle, 
but  as  another  disguise,  for,  in  ensample,  a  prologue,  prse- 
fatio,  the  epilogues,  and  head-lines  attracted  *too  much 
notice.  I,  therefore,  have  given  much  trouble  to  mine 
ayders  by  making  two  kinds  or  formes  of  these  letters. 
These  bee  not  designed  for  other  use  then  hath  but  now 
beene  explain'd,  nor  must  you  looke  to  see  them  employ'd 
if  a  reason  for  th'  change  appeare,  but  there  will  be  warn- 
ing given  you  for  your  instruction  or  guidance.  "Noe  othe' 
waie  of  diverting  th'  curious  could  be  used  where  th' 
exteriour  epistle  is  but  briefe,  however  it  will  not  thus 
turne  aside  my  decypherer,  for  his  eye  is  too  well  practis'd 
in  artes  that  easily  misleade  others  who  enquire  of  th'  waye. 

If  I  deceive  your  hope  and  leade  you  on  to  pursue  a 
flitting  vision  o'  fame,  fortune,  and  great  delight,  may  th' 
whole  injury  bee  mine,  for  th'  hope  and  desire  are  mine; 
yet  I  cannot  beleeve  my  noble  invention,  which  hath 
already  bin  us'd  many  yeares,  shall  proove  valuelesse  or 
vaine.  I  am,  in  very  truth,  confident  of  my  dues  of  honor 
in  the  course  o'  time,  and  that  shall  bee  shared  with  my 
decypherer.  Can  he  say  this  is  nought  and  laugh  at  it?  I 
thinke  not,  nor  can  hee  say  that  I  have  any  other  objecte 
in  view,  or  other  motive  then  to  give  a  corrected  history 
of  my  times,  albeit  my  owne  is  more  changed  by  my  recital 
then  any  othe'  save  Her  Majestie,  her  story. 

'Tis  just  that  the  vayle  bee  torne  from  th'  features 
admired  so  long,  to  expose  her  true  character  to  all  th'  world. 
Yet  T  make  inquirie  of  you,  who  hath  a  penne  soe  perfect 
that  it  could  shew  th'  colours  o'  good  and  evill?  Onlie 
one  who  is  gifted  with  more  then  common  wisedome,  but 
th'  hand  so  guided  worketh  out  lines  as  doth  inspired  pennes. 


•Cynthia's  Revels. 


68  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Surelie  a  sonne  doth  sit  close  at  hand  and  should  se  clearly 
to  limne  truely.  This  I  know  1  have  accomplisht,  nor 
glozed,  nor  blench'd  in  my  accorapt,  although  wider,  or 
rathe'  more  searching  lookes,  shew'd  niee  tha'  undercur- 
rant,  stronger  ev'n  then  vanity, — partly  'J'ndor  strength  of 
will,  and  partly  her  owne  selfe-love, — that  moved  on  as 
resistlesslie  as  fate,  bearing  all  before  th'  unsuspected 
force. 

This  it  was,  altho'  soe  well  disguis'd,  that  kept  me  from 
my  crowne,  and  as  th'  days  and  moneths  wore  towards  th' 
close  o'  life,  her  desires  mastered  her  wisedome  soe  farre 
that  shee  did  meditate  naming  my  brother  successor;  but 
his  attempt  to  snatch  this  prize  did  thwart  alike  her  hope, 
and  his,  at  forfeit  of  his  life. 

All  joys  died  with  Essex  in  both  our  bosomes;  for  her, 
all  peace,  as  well,  and  she  deelin'd  toward  her  owne  end 
from  daie  to  day,  visiblie,  even  while  she  stroove  most  to 
hide  her  weakenesse. 

Some,  doubtlesse,  suppos'd  that  some  spirit  of  justice 
was  arous'd  respecting  her  owne  right,  and  beleev'd  that  it 
manifested  itselfe  very  plainly  in  th'  choice  of  Mary's  sonne 
to  succeed  her,  but  I  know  that  her  strong  othe  concerning 
mee,  the  reall  heyre  to  th'  kingdome,  had  greater  waight 
then  all  things  else.  It  was  still  most  constantly  in  her 
minde,  more  perhaps,  or  as  much,  as  th'  Scripture,  so  that, 
as  Ben  Jonson  saith,  she  made  it  her  religion  *to  doe  injury 
to  me. 

Yet  have  I  accomplisht  much  by  most  thorough  manner 
and  unceasing  appliance  of  time.  But  in  Cypher  "writi'g, 
you  know  Avell,  nothing  can  be  accounted  finished  whylst 


♦The  Poetaster. 


IN  THE  FOX.  69 

anie  Cypher  historie  bee  inco'pleat.  My  grande  Cyphre 
prooveth  true,  but  th'  work  is  heavie.  Much  doth  still 
remayne  to  build  up  into  a  new  forme — a  new  edifice — but 
having  exercis'd  patience  and  most  ceaslese  perseverance 
for  so  manie  yeares,  'tis  not  probable  that  I  shall  now  falter; 
but  I  dread  least  too  many  parts  be  left  when  I  make  the 
finall  exit,  and  mar  the  whole.  Of  that  none  but  the  Divine 
Kider  knoweth.  » 

Xoe  hand  save  this  could  carry  out  my  dessein,  and  con- 
clude so  well  both  th'  Cyphe'  narrations  and  the  exteriour 
epistles,  yet  are  the  secret  letters  soe  divided  when  assorted, 
no  one  would  see  th'  story  that  had  not  the  Cypher  key. 

Very  little,  the  care  this  causeth  me.  My  feares  growe 
from  that  which  I  called  dread  as  to  the  end  of  the  work. 
Th'  time  is  still  in  minde  when  my  thoughts  had  no  rest 
in  th'  hours  o'  idlenes  lest  Her  Majestic,  my  mother,  finde 
out  my  secret.  Shee  is  now  gone  to  that  undiscover'd 
country  from  whose  borne  no  traveller  returnes;  nor  feare 
nor  hope  is  left  me  of  ought  from  her  hand,  but  death  shall 
not  burie  this  that  her  life  ccgiceal'd.  Th'  truth  here  dis- 
cover'd  must  live  in  ev'ry  age,  for  a  Righteous  Judge  doth 
pronounce  this  sentence  irrevocably.  'Tis  simple  justice 
to  her  spouse  and  her  two  heyres,  if  too  tardie  to  availe 
ought.  But  your  recompence  should  be  like  my  owne,  that 
is  to  say,  honor,  ^one,  if  due  you  by  following  our 
Cypher,  will  come  short.  J^To  man  may  so  deprive  you  of 
that,  hence,  for  your  owne  sake  we  trust  that  your  strength 
and  patie'ce  shall  continu'  until  from  th'  bookes  we  leave, 
you  work  out  this  gem  of  stored  truth,  most  like  a  worker 
in  th'  eartTi's  hidden  mines — as  you  put  do^vn  your  bar  you 
see  the  treasure. 


70  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Severall  comedies,  which,  be  now  strangers,  as  might  be 
said,  bearing  at  th'  most  such  titles  'mongst  the  plaiers  as 
they  would  remember,  but  th'  author's  name  in  disgiiise,  if 
it  bee  seen  at  all,  will,  as  soone  as  may  be  found  toward  and 
propitious,  be  publisht  by  Shakespeare,  i.  e.  in  his  name, 
having  masqued  thus  manie  of  the  best  plaies  that  wee, 
have  beene  able  to  produce.  To  these  wee  are  steadilie 
making  additions,  writing  from  two  to  six  stage  plays  every 
year.  With  th'  state  duty  latelie  devolv'd  on  us  this 
seemeth  surely  a  great  taske,  since  as  is  knowne  to  our 
decypherer,  th'  Cyphers  must  be  first  divided,  (put  out  so 
fragmentary,  soe  well  scatter'd  that  no  such  jDurpose  be 
dreamt  of),  and  when  all  is  prepar'd,  this  Bi-literall  part — 
i.  e.  as  it  is  being  set  up — must  pass  into  no  scrutiny  but 
mine. 

Th'  great  prease  of  these  labours  doth  take  from  one, 
as  must  be  undertaken,  th'  required  leysure  for  correc- 
tions which  is  doubly  noted  herein.  In  some  places  the 
reader  will  not  find  much  hindrance  from  such  obstruc- 
tions, in  others  'tis  hardlie  wonne;  yet  we  take  heart  since 
we  assure  ourself  th'  decyph'rer's  eye  is  ever  soe  keene, 
he  shall  let  noe  simple  errour  blind  him.  And  though 
important  parts  may  be  frequently,  aye  many  a  time, 
repeated,  hee  shall  acknowledge  our  device  is  as  truly  a 
waie  to  transcend  small  works  as  writing  th'  usual  dramas 
doth  farre  outgo  history.  As  one  writi'g  the  true  story 
must  throw  all  dread  and  feare  into  i^ox,  her  gloomie  for- 
getfullnes,  this  Cypher  is  as  a  strong  guard,  its  meandri'gs 
our  safetie,  so  shutti'g  out  harassing  inquirers. 

SIR  F.  B. 


IN  THE  FOX.  71 

*At  our  father's  most  emest  request  this  tale  must  be 
made  very  full,  so  that  no  reader  could  doubt  its  true  design. 
Other  thinges,  noe  matter  how  great,  or  vast,  must  yield 
place.  Yet  it  was  his  msh  to  have  it  told  ope'lie  in  our 
books.  That  wee  hold  imprudent.  Th'  deciph'rer  hath  no 
grave  task.  Iso  more  must  he  decypher  after  th'  play  now 
in  hand.  It  is  my  work  noe  furder  then  doth  concern 
»  alphabets,  excepting  those  portions  which  have,  I  doubt  not, 
beene  found  long  ere  this,  having  soe  oft  beene  spoken  of 
in  manie  of  my  epistles. 

Th^  Cyphe'  therein  contain'd  hath  great  worth  if  writ- 
ten out,  but  like  th'  tre'sure  in  f  am'd  mines  o'  distante  isles, 
little  can  its  valew  be  knowne  whilst  it  lyeth  hidden. 
Where  manie  authours  receive  the  reward  of  their  applica- 
tion at  once,  ours  awaits  man's  future;  but  'tis  th'  future 
of  time,  and  posterity  must  make  just  amends  for  our  present 
want.  The  future  peoples  of  a  distant  shore  will  prove  true 
th'  word  which  saith :  "A  man  is  not  without  honour  save 
in  his  o^vne  countrey,"  since  they  be  true,  to-day,  here, 
for  us  who  dwell  where  th'  Divine  footsteps  have  nere  trod, 
as  they  were  sixteene  hundred  yeares  ago  in  Palestine. 
Wee  awaite  that  day. 

FR.  BACO'. 

♦Every  man  in  his  humor. 


SHAKESPEAEE  QUAETOS. 

RICHARD  THE  SECOND. 
1615. 

Winne  honest  rewardes  in  the  praise  o'  your  generation 
by  greeting  thein  in  onr  voyce,  and  like  a  sweete  violl,  sound 
such  musicke  that  all  slial  recognise  the  hand  that  made  of 
olden  time,  musicke  that  all  men  found  good.  Sweete  lines 
of  our  ever  new  poeme,  Faerie  Qucene,  fresh  in  their  minds 
still  rest,  and  when  these  in  new  forme  come  out  from  the 
shelte'  of  our  exteriour  workes,  they  afforde  pleasant  sur- 
prises. 

The  same  is  noted  in  respect  of  all  works,  and  the  pleasant 
charme  is  such  as  doth  come  in  th'  dance  on  removi'g  the 
masque  wh'ch  hath  conceal'd  a  face  that  we  love.  We  lose 
remembrances  unreal,  fantasies  and  a  strangenesse  (even 
where  wee  bee  most  sensil>le  that  onely  tlie  shell  is  altered) 
and  we  welcome  the  familiar  features.  Sometimes  th'  secret 
epistle  seemeth  a  harsh  note  and  jarreth;  discord  is  sodainely 
thund'red  forth,  yet  is  it  all  necesary,  if  truth  is  to  be  seen 
and  understood. 

Wei  knowing  how  rude  some  notes  shall  sound,  f  aine  ^dll 
our  musike,  wrought  soe  silentlie,  ofte  resou'd  one  stra'gly 
sweete  straine  of  one  our  early  fancy, — pai'ting  not  what  we 
knew,  but  ev'ry  winsome  grace,  or  proud  yet  gentle  motion 
of  lilie  hand  or  daintily  tripjiing  foot, — long  worshipt  as 
divine — heavenly  Marguerite,  Queene  of  J^avarre.  So  shall 
the  ruder  jar,  slightly  lessen'd,  sound  almost  harmonious. 


IN  MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  73 

Soe  also  shall  the  disclosed  story,  or  this  broken  accompte 
of  secret  working  at  Coiirt,  come  to  bee  knowne.  A  truth 
shall  bee  reveal'd  that  much  Avrongeth  us. 

F.  B.  OR  T. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 
1619. 
Write  out  the  Grayes  Inne  epistle  and  by  following 
our  Cyphar  in  one  set  of  playes  not  yet  put  out,  there,  hid 
witlb  a  penetrable  masqueing  device,  a  great  number  of 
secrets  may  be  leam'd  which  are  not  elsewhere  fullie  told. 
The  secret  carried,  utterly  reverseth  the  common  opinion 
at  present  currant,  though  some  do  know  Queene  Elizabeth 
to  have  wedded. 

Ere  she,  coming  to  th'  throne  like  an  imperiall  Tudor, 
in  every  word  that  she  let  fall  at  the  councell  board,  might 
hold  these  idole,  subtile  whispers  i'  leash,  there  were  many 
rumors  as  it  will  be  in  truth  prov'd,  passing  quicklie  from 
tongue  to  tongue. 

By  undulie  bandying  about  a  ring — as  one  might  say 
to  speak  lightly,  since  our  observing  search  n'deth  nought 
that  could  not  bee  said  to  ende  at  the  same  place  at  which 
it  may  have  started — there  hath  bin  strange  proof  that 
maids  put  their  lives  in  numberlesse  jeopardies,  buying 
libertie  of  th'  thoughts  or  th'  tongue  with  losse  of  liberty 
of  the  bodie;  or  that  men,  ev'n,  when  some  strong  drinke 
loos'd  propper  controllment  of  th'  member,  thorow  rash 
speech,  were  reft  sodainelie  of  lands  and  tre'sure  [and]  paid 
penalty  to  th'  hight  of  her  owne  plesure. 

There  needed  no  other  pretexte  were  this  offender  lowly; 
the  noble  no  waye  was  advantag'd  eyther.  Sundrie  were 
never  in  any  case  wanting  to  shewe  her  th'  safe  waye  to 


74  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

her  will.     Among  th'  com'ons  it  is  sayd,  in  great  f eare, 

more  simple  mindes  sustained  th'  shocke  at  such  time  o' 

perill  as  did  unhinge  stronger  ones,  and  it  may  be  thought 

a  very  binding  oath  made  on  th'  Sacred  "Word  could  so 

control  trulie  garruUous  tongues,  and  that  of  the  common 

rank  example  might  have  bin  found  necessary.     We  must 

say  this  was  the  case.     It  is  told — for  truth,  to  our  belief — 

in  many  such  cases  the  racke  was  us'd,  and  one  man  suffered 

th'  losse  of  th'  offending  member  for  his  word. 

BAC03S^ 


THE  WHOLE  CONTENTION  BETWEENE    THE    HOUSES    OF 
YORK  AND  LANCASTER. 

1619. 

Like  ill  thought,  fly  curses,  and  doe  not  light,  when 
causeles,  to  do  injury.  In  this  doe  we  see  onelie  simple, 
just  judgeme't,  or  right  dealing,  when  we  waigh  the  clayme 
of  divine  birthright  to  an  exercise  proper  and  right  of  a 
man's  owne  will. 

When  ill  succes.with  one  most  aspiring  ambition,  not 
yet  likely  or  I  might  say  ev'n  possible  o'.that  degree  of 
fullfilme't  I  desire,  foUow'd  upon  my  first  serious  differences 
and  subsequent  open  rupture  with  our  mother,  I  tooke  coun- 
sel] with  one,  who,  tho'  not  an  oracle,  possest  wisedom  that 
most  lacke,  that  is,  wisedome  for  himselfe.  Hee  bad  me 
manifest  no  f eare  of  curses  such  as  anger  shall  oft  call  downe 
yet  cannot  governe.  We  may  shudder  at  a  dreadfull  winged 
word,  but  it  cannot  doe  harrae  to  our  life. 

Qu.  E.,  who  deserv'd  more  honour  as  a  wife  then  could 
otherwise  come  to  her,  who  should,  following  Cornelia, 
her  gracious  yet  solemne  ensample  and  worthie  word,  have 
helde  her  sonnes  as  precious  even  as  England's  costliest 


IN  THE  WHOLE  CONTENTION^  75 

gemmes,  was  much  mov'd  by  my  rash  interference  to  turne 
aside  her  wrath  ere  it  had  blasted  utterly  the  fayre  flowret 
on  whom  it  fell,  yclipt  me  ewry  dred  name  her  tonguei 
could  speake  and  cursed  mee  bitterly.  Manie  say  it  still 
doth  work  me  harme.  This  cannot  be  true,  inasmuch  as  I 
am  innocuous  of  any  premeditated  ill  to  Elizabeth.  *  *  * 
That  this  shall  bee  such  true  historic  that  it  shall  be 
worthy  of  preservacion,  I  have  not  blench'd  ought  how- 
soev'r  much  it  may  irk  mee,  or  wearie  those  who  read  it, 
but  some  of  it  I  would  I  could  forget  after  it  hath  bene  set 
downe.  I  cannot,  as  one  that  would  write  the  evill  with 
such  plaine  and  hideous  feature,  th'  sight  shall  turne  pure 
eyes  from  it,  narrate  this  in  wordes  lesse  strong. 

A  truth  cannot  well  chose  its  outside  apparell,  but  it 
shall  wear  unsullied  robes.  Th'  great  Cipher  shal  contain 
most  iraporta't  matters  that  will  not  elsewhere  bee  found, 
because  this  king  is  nothing  lacking  in  diligence  to  suppres 
any  printing  that  would  acquaynt  very  youthfull  yeomen 
with  this  strange  clayme — strange  since  he  who  thus 
demanded  right  was  sonne  to  the  Queene,  th'  first  to  blesse 
her  union  with  Robert  Dudley  whilst  a  prisoner  in  the 
Tower. 

It  is  well  knowne  at  home  and  abroad  that  England's 
yeomanrie,  inform'd  that  England's  lawful  Prince  walk'd 
humblie  without  his  crowne,  would  joine  in  one  mightie 
force  that  he  be  enthronized. 

This  it  is  which  now  maketh  me  assured  it  had  bene 
much  to  advantage  me,  if  my  claime  had  th'  sturdy  yeomen, 
their  support.  The  commons,  in  such  a  cause,  can,  I  have 
no  doubt,  ayde  or  advance  one  farre  more  then  a  forraine 
royalty,  or  this  nobilitie,  if  once  these  matters  shall  be  wel 
understood ;  so  that  the  wish  to  leav'n  th'  stout  youths  of 


76  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

our  land  in  western  and  many  northern  coiiutr\'  to\\'ns  is 
vastly  gaini'g  stre'gth,  and  many  workes  have  bene  plann'd 
to  interesse,  in  plays,  men -who  can  get  little  else.  Yet 
if  til'  times  yield  them  noe  one  that  shall  interprete  to 
some  of  this  number,  th'  epistles  within  the  huske,  I  can 
nere  reach  their  mindes,  or  rouse  them  for  this  start. 

Some  would  yeeld  his  cause  sooner,  or  aske  ayde  in  a 
lande  remov'd  far  from  this,  yet  I  have  turned  to  my  long 
estraug'd  yet  wholy  honest  peopl'  that  I  may  come  to  the 
power. 

Watching  th'  storms  but  saying  no  unmeani'g  word,  I 
put  forth  my  secret  letters.  It  may  bee  noe  eie  will  note, 
no  hand  mil  ayde — if  this  be  true  I  die  and  make  no  signe. 

If  a  Divine  Pow'r  intend  noe  ayde,  I  can  only  look 
forward  towards  the  future.  It  shall  thus  perchance,  some- 
what content  m,y  heart  at  that  f  arre  off  day  that  those  who 
dwel  on  the  globe  may  fully  learn  how  great  is  th'  wrong 
turbulent  Robt.  did  by  thus  endang'ring  as  well  a  worthy 
and  devoted  friend  and  a  .loving  brother  to  worke  out  a 
strange,  I  [ay] ,  bold  designe,  since  'twas  this  which  sudenly 
rous'd  Her  Majesty  to  hatred  or  jealousie  great  as  th'  mind 
to  which  that  evill  demon  came.  The  events  that  followed 
prooved  this,  but  I  could  onlie  sail  in  th'  waters  when  a 
milde  wind  blew,  lest  the  sodaine  ^vracke  of  all  my  cherish'd 
dreames  might  fill  my  heart  with  envie — the  root  of  th' 
worser  evills  that  become  our  portio'  at  our  birth. 

Th'  renew'd  maidenlike  pretence  made  mee  know  th' 
intent  held  by  this  va\Tie-minded,  selfe-loving  woman. 
Daily,  a  sonne  with  proud  humour  mirrour'd  her  best  graces, 
but  shee  was  nere  mov'd  to  retract  a  single  Avrathful  oath 
or  yield  a  word  o'  appro  vail,  be  my  deservi'g  whatsoever 
and  whensoeever  it  might.     This  continued  estrangement 


IN  PERICLES.  77 

wore  on  or  increased.  At  last  she  fell  into  a  mela'colia 
so  profou'd  none  could  rouse  her.  This  was  more  unfor- 
tunate for  mee  then  a  most  mgrk'd  resolve  such  as  I  spake 
of,  for  a  whim  may  oft  be  remov'd  and  banished,  but 
mania  is  difficile  to  controll,  else  my  most  able  powers  had 
trulie  shewn  men  what  both  equally  desired — ^that  height 
to  which  England  should  rise,  ruled  by  a  kind,  wise  king. 

FRANCIS  OF  E. 


PERICLES.  I 

1619. 

When  this  and  various  plaies  put  out  in  diverse  names 
have  bin  joined,  you  shall  finde  that  I  am  the  authour  that  is 
masquing  his  work  thus,  that  a  secret,  ay  a  perilou'  historic,, 
may  bee  written  in  better  form  then  I  could  well  employ 
if  I  wish'd  to  speak  so  plaine  that  all  might  heare  and  know 
my  voyce. 

All  men  who  write  stage-playes  are  held  in  co'tempte. 
For  this  reason  none  say,  "How  strange,"  when  a  plaie- 
cometh,  accompanied  mtli  gold,  asking  a  name  by  whicK 
one  puting  it  forward  shall  not  bee  recognis'd,  or  thought 
to  bee  cognisant  of  its  existence.  For  this  cause,  if  rare- 
stories  must  ha^'e  a  hidi'g,  noe  other  could  be  so  safe,  for 
th'  men  who  had  won  gold  in  any  way.  did  not  readily 
acquai't  any  man,  least  o'  these  a  stranger,  with  his  source 
of  wealth  as  you  may  well  understand. 

•For  space  o'  many  long  yeeres  therefore  I  have  cent'red 
my  thought  and  giv'n  as  much  of  my  time  as  th'  calls  of 
our  businesses  do  permit.  My  motive  some  might  question, 
yet  it  seemeth  to  mee  a  worthie  and  right  one  to  be  giv'n 
waie,  my  wishes  or  plans  being  myracles  to  some  slighte 


78  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

degree,  th'  great  thought  comming  to  me  in  th'  silente 
night  vigils.  For  a  youth  could  see  his  whole  life  at  a 
word  turn'd  aside. 

As  a  stream  soe  often,  out  o'  wild  mou'tayn  gorg  rising, 
carry'd  thro'  a  meade  in  bounds  that  have  bin  set,  or  trameld 
by  devices,  doth  lose  its  spirit,  so  hee  felt  his  hart  change 
in  his  breast.  There  was  a  momente  when  as  by  a  thunde'- 
bolt  th'  truth  was  hurtled  forth  in  soe  hard,  stern,  unbending 
waye  it  shockt  young  minds;  and  sensible  souls  must  deliver 
a  cry  of  sorrow  when  a  wound  is  wa'tonlie  inflicted. 

In  my  plaies,  therefore,  I  have  tossed  my  f eeli'gs  as  they 
doe  roll  and  swell,  or  hurtle  along  their  way.  Observe, 
tho'  'twas  th'  seco'd  daughter  of  Henri  the  Eight  was  my 
mother,  these  things  do  bring  my  hart  many  a  f  eare  I  shal 
never,  in  a  farre  time,  bee  * 

FRANCIS   THE   FIRST   OF  ENGLAND. 


YORKSHIRE    TRAGEDY. 
ED.  1619. 

This  play  should  joine  our  othe'  playes  if  our  greatest 
of  Cyphres,  or  o'  all  artes  be  found.  These  must  be  sought 
where  wee  previously  directed  you,  and  by  noe  meanes 
must  th'  work  bee  layd  by,  tho'  so  tiresome  'tis  sometimes 
lesse  pleasure  to  followe  with  co'stancie,  then  to  take  up  as 
occasion  and  liking  shall  serve. 

But  so  great  is  th'  importance  that  may  attach  to  seem- 
ingly small  incidents,  this  history  should  not  bee  pass'd 
over  by  one  seeking  the  true  and  ungloz'd  story  as  seldorae 
related  ene  unto  bosom  friends.  In  no  part  be  faithles 
and  rash. 

FR.   BACON. 


IN  ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


ROMEO    AND    JULIET. 
WITHOUT  DATE. 


Since  th'  former  issue  of  this  play,  very  seldome  heard 
without  most  stormie  weeping — ^you'  poets  commonest 
plaudite — we  have  al  but  determin'd  on  folowing  the  for- 
tunes of  thes  ill-fated  lovers  by  a  path  les  thorny. 

Their  life  was  too  briefe — its  rose  of  pleasure  had  but 
partlie  drunk  the  sweete  dewe  o'  early  delight,  and  evrie 
hour  had  begun  to  ope  unto  sweete  love,  tender  leaflets 
in  whose  fragrance  was  assurance  of  untoli  joies  that  th' 
immortalls  know.  Yet  'tis  a  kinde  fate  which  joyn'd  them 
together  in  life  and  in  death. 

It  was  a  sadder  fate  befel  our  youthfull  love,  my  Mar- 
guerite, yet  written  out  in  the  plays  it  scarce  would  bee 
named  our  tragedie  since  neither  yeelded  up  life.  But 
the  joy  of  life  ebb'd  from  our  hearts  with  our  parting,  and 
it  never  came  againe  into  this  bosome  in  full  flood-tide. 
O  we  were  Fortune's  foole  too  long,  sweete  one,  and  arte 
is  long. 

This  stage-play  in  part  will  tell  our  briefe  love  tale,  a 
part  is  in  the  play  previously  nam'd  or  mention'd  as  having 
therein  one  pretty  scene,  acted  by  the  two.  So  rare  (and 
most  briefe)  th'  hard- won  happinesse,  it  afforded  us  great 
content  to  relive  in  th'  play  all  that  as  mist  in  summer 
momi'g  did  roule  away.  It  hath  place  in  th'  dramas  co'- 
taining  a  scene  and  theame  of  this  nature,  since  our  fond 
love  interpreted  th'  harts  o'  others,  and  in  this  joy,  th'  joy 
of  heaven  was  faintlie  guess'd. 

Farre  from  angelique  tho'  man  his  nature,  if  his  love 
bee  as  cleare  or  as  fine  as  our  love  for  a  lovely  woman  (sweet 
as  a  rose  and  as  thornv  it  might  chance)  it  sweet'neth  all 


80  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

th'  e'closure  of  his  brest,  oft  cliaugemg  a  waste  into  lovely 
gardens,  which  th'  angels  would  fayne  seeke.  That  it  soe 
uplifts  our  life  who  would  ere  question.  Xot  he,  our 
friend  and  good  adviser,  knowne  to  all  decyph'ring  any  o' 
these  hidd'n  epistles.  Sir  Amyas  Paulet. 

It  is  sometimes  said,  "No  man  can  at  once  be  wise  and 
love,"  and  yet  it  would  be  wel  to  observe  many  will  bee 
Aviser  after  a  lesson  such  as  we  long  agoo  conn'd. 

There  was  noe  ease  to  our  sufferi'g  heart  til  our  yeares 
of  life  were  eight  lustres.  The  faire  face  liveth  ever  in 
dreames,  but  in  inner  pleasances  onely  doth  th'  sunnie  vision 
come.  This  wil  make  clearlie  scene  why  i'  th'  part  a  man 
doth  play  heerein  and  wherere  man's  love  is  evident, 
strength  hath  remain'd  unto  the  end, — th'  wanto'  Paris 
recov'ring  by  his  latter  venture  much  previouslie  lost. 

BACON. 


ROBERT  GREENE. 

A  QUIP  FOR  AN  UPSTART  COURTIER. 
1620. 

This  work  may  not  be  knowne  as  mine,  as  anothe'  is 
now  giv'n  all  o'  th'  wreathes  and  girlonde'  certaine  bookes 
bring.  'Tis  among  more  worthy  productions  alreadie 
known  to  you,  and  is  made  valuable  to  my  compleated  his- 
tory in  my  long-sought  interioiir  epistles,  as  my  labours 
must  by  this  time  clearlie  have  sliewne,  by  that  pri'cipall 

Cypher. 

FRA'.   B. 


FRAXCIS  BACON. 

NOVUM  ORGANUM. 

1620. 

All  that  learne  that  I,  who  accompte  th'  truth  better 
then  mcked  vanitie,  publish'd  manie  late  playes  under 
other  cognomen'  will  think  the  motive  some  distaste  of  the 
stage.  In  noe  respect  is  it  true,  yet  I  shall  make  knowne 
to  him  who  can  reade  Cypher-writing,  a  motive  stronger 
then  this,  were  it  such,  since  man  hath  a  greater  desire  to 
live  then  hee  hath  to  winne  fame,  and  my  life  had  foure 
eager  spyes  on  it,  not  alone  by  day  but  by  night  also. 

It  may  thus  bee  surmis'd  that  devices  of  some  sort  were 
soe  needful, — even  to  publish  poemes  which  might  natural- 
lie  bee  but  such  as  doe  afforde  pleasure, — that  my  wit,  not 
at  all  lessen'd,  but  sharpen'd,  by  constant  dangers,  found 
meanes  unknown  to  those  who  were  most  warie,  to  send 
out  much  hidden  dang'rous  matter,  (using  tearmes  in  re- 
gard tc  myselfe  onely)  that  was  not  eVn  doubted. 

SeveruU  small  works  under  no  name  wonne  worthy 
praise;  rext  in  Spenser's  name,  also,  they  ventured  into  an 
unknowne  world.  "When  I,  at  length,  having  written  ia 
diverse  stiles,  found  three  who,  for  sufficient  reward  in  gold 
added  to  an  immediate  renowne  as  good  pens,  willingly 
put  forth  all  workes  whch  I  had  compos'd,  I  was  bolder. 
Feare  lest  noe  reader  may  note  an  inner  or  Cipher  story, 
is  more  present  now,  and  doth  question  how  to  make  a 

81 


82  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS- BACON. 

change  of  such  sort  that  it  be  simple  but  not  playne,  for 
no  strong  Cypher  is  to  be  read  as  wee  reade  a  booke. 

Having  with  some  care  prepar'd  twoo  setts — both  large 
and  small  of  accented  or  mark'd  letters,  in  this  type  com- 
monly cald  Italique,  I  have  emploied  the  same  more  fre- 
quently to  hide  secret  matters,  not  as  a  meanes  to  render 
discyphering  easy,  per  contra,  making  it  difficult.  How- 
ever I  now  purpose  their  employment  in  my  future  labour 
in  lieu  o'  th'  plain'  type,  beleeving  that  the  eie  will  be 
more  readilie  strucke  thereby — not  in  the  present  writing 
further  then  hath  already  beenp  mention'd.  Upon  more 
reflection,  I  am  assured  it  will,  at  length,  accomplish  all 
intended  when  it  was  devis'd,  which,  as  must,  methinkes, 
ere  the  present  time  bee  well  knowne,  was  but  to  aide  in 
decyphering  my  great  Word-Cypher — so  called  because 
key-words  are  emploi'd  in  joining  the  parts. 

It  is  farre  more  labour  Avriting  thus,  since  a  mistake 
causeth  much  harme,  and  a  frequent  and  tiresome  repeti- 
tion hath  beene  needfull  to  assure  th'  revelation  of  th' 
whole  hidden  story;  nor  can  it  prove  to  be  lesse  wearyi'g 
to  my  decipherer  whe'  all  my  secret  hath  beene  brought 
out,  yet  doe  I  maintaine  that  the  principall  work  hath 
beene,  or  is,  writing  a  secret  storie  of  my  owne  life,  as  well 
as  a  true  historic  of  th'  times,  in  this  greater  Cypher. 

I  have  lost  therein  a  present  fame  that  I  may,  out  of 
anie  doubt,  recover  it  in  our  owne  and  othe'  lands  after 
manie  a  long  yeare.  I  thinke  some  ray,  that  farre  offe 
golden  morning,  will  glimmer  ev'n  into  th'  tombe  where 
I.  shall  lie,  and  I  shall  know  that  wisdome  led  me  thus  to 
wait  unhonour'd,  as  is  meete,  until  in  the  perfected  time, — 
which  the  Ruler,  that  doth  wisely  shape  our  ends,  rough 
hewe  them  how  we  will,  doth  ev'n  now  knowe, — my  justi- 
fication bee  complete. 


IN  NOVUM  ORGANUM.  83 

111  th'  Cyphers  heere  given,  you  will  run  ore  the  story 
of  my  life  from  yeere  to  yeere,  wherein  you  may  find  that 
I  was  of  roiall  birth,  th'* first  whose  clayme  to  th'  scepter 
was  denyed  by  his  foolish  mother,  herselfe  a  queene.  I 
being  th'  first  sonne,  and  borne  in  proper  and  just  time 
after  my  roial  mother,  her  marriage,  should  sw&y^  Eng- 
land's sceptre  and  sit  in  her  chaire  of  state;  but  Elizabeth, 
who  thought  to  outcraft  all  th'  powers  that  be,  supprest 
all  hints  of  her  marriage,  for  no  knowne  object  if  it  bee 
not  that  her  desire  to  swaie  Europe  had  some  likelihood, 
thus,  of  comming  to  fulfillment.  Many  were  her  suitors, 
with  whom  shee  executed  th'  figures  of  a  dance,  advanc- 
ing, retreating,  leading,  or  following  in  sweet  sympathy 
to  the  musicke's  call.  But  ever  was  there  a  dying  fall  in 
those  straines — ^none  might  heare  onely  she  or  my  father — 
and  th'  dancer's  feete  never  led  to  Hymen's  lofty  altar, 
thereafter. 

A  feare  seemed  to  haunt  her  minde  that  a  king  might 
suit  th'  mounting  ambitions  of  a  people  that  began  to  seeke 
New  Atlantis  beyond  th'  westeme  seas.  Some  doubtlesse 
long'd  for  a  roiall  leader  of  the  troopes,  when  warres  blacke 
eagles  threat'ned  th'  realme,  which  Elizabeth  met  in  two 
wayes — by  shewi'g  a  kinglie  spirit  when  subjects  were 
admitted  into  th'  presence  chamber,  and  by  th'  most  con- 
sta't  opposition  to  warre,  as  was  well  knowne  to  her  coun- 
cill.  Manie  supposing  miserly  love  of  gold  uppermoste 
in  mind  and  spirit,  made  but  partial  and  cursorie  note  o:^ 
her  naturall  propension,  so  to  speake,  or  the  bent  o'  th' 
disposition,  for  behinde  every  othe'  passion  and  vanity 
mooving  her,  the  feare  of  being  depos'd  rankled  and  urg'd 
her  to  a  policie  not  yet  understood. 

Th'  warres  of  Edward,  cald  The  Third, — ^but  who  might 


84  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

bee  nam'd  the  first  amongst  heroes, — and  of  his  bolde 
Sonne,  known  as  Edward  the  Blacke  Prince,  of  brave 
Henry  Fift,  and  her  grandsire  Henry  Sevent,  as  well  as 
one  of  her  father,  his  short  strifes,  were  not  yet  out  of 
memorie  of  th'  people.  Many  pens  kepte  all  these  fresh 
in  their  mindes.  Shee,  as  a  grave  physitian,  therefore, 
kept  a  finger  on  th'  wrist  of  the  publique,  so,  doubtlesse, 
found  it  the  part  of  prudence  to  put  the  Princes, — my 
brother,  th'  Earle  of  Essex,  and  myselfe — out  o'  th'  sight 
of  th'  people. 

Yet  in  course  of  time  the  Earle  of  Leicester,  our  subtile 
father,  handled  matters  so  that  hee  came  nearer  to  obtain- 
ing th'  crowne  for  my  brother  then  suited  my  wishes  and 
claymes,  making  pretense  of  consulting  [my]  tastes  and 
fitnesse  for  learning.  That  Robert  w^as  of  bolder  temper 
and  more  fiery  spirit  I  can  by  no  argument  disprove,  but 
I  want  not  roiall  parts,  and  right  of  primogeniture  may 
not  be  set  aside,  without  some  costly  sacrifice,  as  modesty 
or  good  fame.  Stopping  shorte  of  this  irreparable  Avrong, 
my  father  tooke  but  slight  interesse  in  the  things  he  had 
beene  so  hot  upon,  and  th'  trouble  regarding  his  wilde  pro- 
jects was  at  a  time  much  later — subsequent  to  th'  death  of 
our  fathe'. 

Though  constantly  hemmed  about,  threatened,  kept 
under  surveillance,  I  have  written  this  history  in  full  in 
the  Cypher,  being  fully  persuaded,  in  my  owne  minde  and 
heart,  that  not  onelie  jesting  Pilate,  but  the  world  aske: 
''What  is  truth?"  and  when  they  reade  th'  hidden  history 
in  my  work,  must  thinke  it  a  worthie  labour  to  wiite  a 
true  history  of  our  times,  and  o'  that  greatly  renowu'd 
mayden-queene,     Elizabeth, — it    shall     appeare    misplact 


IN  NOVUM  ORGANUM.  85 

when  you  put  my  work,  as  you  here  shall  finde  it,  into  a 
form  readily  understood. 

As  may  bee  well  knowiie  unto  you,  th'  questio'  of  Eliza- 
beth, her  legitimacie,  made  her  a  Protestant,  for  the  Pope 
had  not  recognis'd  th'  union,  tho'  it  were  royale,  which  her 
sire  made  with  f ayre  Anne  Boleyn.  Still  we  may  see  that 
despite  some  restraining  feare,  it  suited  her  to  dallie  with 
the  question,  to  make  a  faint  shew  of  settling  the  mater  as 
her  owne  co'scie'ce  dictated,  if  we  take  th'  decisions  of 
facts;  but  the  will  of  th'  remorse-tost  king  'left  no  doubt 
in  men's  minds  concerning  th'  former  marriage,  in  fact,  as 
th'  crowne  was  giv'n  first  to  Mary,  his  daughter  of  that 
marriage,  before  commi'g  to  Elizabeth. 

In  th'  storie  of  my  most  infortunate  grandmother,  the 
sweet  ladie  who  saw  not  th'  headsman's  axe  when  shee 
went  forth  proudly  to  her  coronation,  you  shall  read  of  a 
sadnesse  that  touches  me  neere,  partlie  because  of  neere- 
nesse  in  bloud,  partlie  from  a  firme  beliefe  and  trust  in 
her  innocencie.  Therefore  every  act  and  scene  of  this  play 
of  which  I  speake,  is  a  tende'  sacrifice,  and  an  incense  to 
her  sweete  memorie.  It  is  a  plea  to  the  generations  to 
come  for  a  just  judgement  upon  her  life,  whilst  also  gning 
the  world  one  of  the  noblest  o'  my  plays,  hidden  in  Cy'hre 
in  many  other  workes. 

A  short  argument,  and  likewise  th'  keies,  are  giv'n  to 
ayde  th'  decypherer  when  it  is  to  be  work'd  out  as  I  wish. 
This  doth  tell  th'  story  with  suflicient  cleames  to  guide  you 
to  our  hidden  storie. 

This  opeth  at  th'  palace,  when  King  Henry  for  the 
first  time  cometh  truely  under  the  spell  of  her  beautie, — 
then  in  th'  highest  perfection  of  dainty  grace,  fresh,  un- 
spoiled,— and  the  chai-me    of    youthlie    manners.     It  is 


86  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

thought  this  was  that  inquisition  which  brought  out  f  eares 
regarding  th'  marriage  contracted  with  Katharine  of  Arra- 
gon,  so  that  none  greatly  wond'red  whe'  prolonged  consul- 
tation of  the  secret  voyce  in  his  soule  assured  the  questioner 
noe  good  could  ever  come  from  the  union.  Acti'g  upon 
this  conviction  he  doth  confer  money  and  titles  upon  his 
last  choise  to  quiet  objections  on  score  of  unmeetnes. 

But  tho'  an  irksome  thing,  truth  shall  be  told.  Tho'  it 
be  ofttimes  a  task, — if  selfe-imposed,  not  by  any  meanes 
th'  lesse,  but*  more  Avearisome,  since  the  work  hath  noe 
voyce  of  approvall  or  praise, — I  intend  its  completion.  For 
many  simple  causes  th'  historic  of  a  man's  life  cometh 
from  acts  that  we  see  through  stayned  glasse  darkelie,  and 
of  th'  other  sexe,  a  man  doth  perceyve  lesse,  if  possible, 
but  th'  picture  that  I  shall  heere  give  is  limn'd  most  care- 
fully. However  m'  pen  hath  greatly  digress'd,  and  to 
retume. 

Despite  this  mark  of  royall  favour,  a  grave  matter  like 
the  divorcement  of  a  royall  spouse  to  wed  a  maide,  suited 
not  with  f  ayre  Anne's  notions  of  justice,  and  mth  a  sweete 
grace  she  made  answere  when  the  King  sued  for  favour: — 
"I  am  not  high  in  birth  as  would  befit  a  Queene,  but  I  am 
too  good  to  become  your  mistresse."  So  there  was  no  waye 
to  compasse  his  desires  save  to  wring  a  decree  out  o'  th' 
Pope  and  wed  th'  maide,  not  a  jot  regarding  her  answer 
unlesse  to  bee  the  more  eager  to  have  his  waye. 

Th'  love  Lord  Percy  shew'd  my  lady,  although  so  frankly 
retum'd,  kept  the  wish  turning,  turning  as  a  restless  mill, 
Soone  he  resolv'd  on  proof  of  his  owne  spirit,  doe  th'  Pope 
how  he  might,  and  securing  a  civill  decree,  privately 
wedded  th'  too  youthfull  Anne,  and  hid  her  for  space  of 
severall  daies  untill  th'  skies  could  somewhat  cleare:  but 


IN  NOVUM  ORGANUM.  87 

when  th'  earlie  sumer  came,  in  hope  that  there  might 
soone  bee  borne  to  them  an  heyre  of  th'  desir'd  kinde, 
'order'd  willinglie  her  coronation  sparing  noe  coste  to  make 
it  outvie  anie  other. 

And  when  she  was  borne  along,  surrounded  bv  soft 
white  tissew,  shielded  by  a  canopie  of  white,  whilst  she  is 
wafted  onwards,  you  would  say  an  added  charme  were  to 
paint  the  lillie,  or  give  the  rose  perfume. 

This  was  onely  th'  beginning  of  a  triumph,  bright  as 
briefe, — in  a  short  space  'twas  ore.  Henry  chose  to  con- 
sider th'  infant  princesse  in  the  light  of  great  anger  of  a 
just  God  brought  upon  him  for  his  sinnes,  but  bearing  this 
with  his  daring  spirit,  he  compelleth  the  Actes  of  Suprem- 
acy and  Succession,  which  placed  him  at  the  head  of  the 
Church  of  England,  in  th'  one  case,  and  made  his  heires 
by  Queene  Anne  th'  successours  to  th'  throne.  Untill  that 
time,  onely  male  heyres  had  succeeded  to  th'  roiall  power 
and  the  act  occasioned  much  surprise  amongst  our  nobilitie. 

But  Henry  rested  not  the'.  The  lovelinesse  of  Anne 
and  her  natural  opennesse  of  manner,  so  potent  to  winne 
th'  weake  heart  o'  th'  King,  awaken'd  suspition  and  much 
cruell  jealousie  w^hen  hee  saw  th'  gay  courtiers  yielding  to 
th'  spell  of  gracefull  gentility, — heighten'd  by  usage  for- 
rayn,  as  also  at  th'  English  Court.  But  if  truth  be  said, 
th'  fancy  had  taken  him  to  pay  lovi'g  court  unto  the  faire 
Jane  Seymour,  who  was  more  beautifull,  and  quite 
young, — but  also  most  ordinary  as  doth  regard  personall 
manner,  and  th'  qualitie  that  made  th'  Queene  so  pleas- 
ing,— Lady  Jane  permitting  marks  of  gracious  favour  t' 
be  freelie  offered. 

And  the  Queene,  unfortunately  for  her  secret  hope,  sur- 
pris'd  them  in  a  tender  scene.      Sodaine  grief e  orewhelm- 


88  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

ing  her  so  viole'tlie,  she  swound  before  them,  and  a  little 
space  thereafter  the  infant  sonne  so  constantly  desir'd, 
borne  untimely,  disappointed  once  more  this  selfish  mon- 
arch. This  threw  him  into  great  fury,  so  that  he  was 
cruellie  harsh  where  [he]  should  give  comfort  and  sup- 
port, throwing  so  much  blame  upon  the  gentle  Queene, 
that  her  heart  dyed  within  her  not  long  after  soe  sadde 
ending  of  a  mother,  her  hopes. 

Under  pretexte  of  beleeying  gentle  Queene  Anne  to  be 
guilty  of  unf aithf ullnesse,  Henry  had  her  convey'd  to  Lon- 
don Tower,  and  subjected  her  to  such  ignominy  as  one  can 
barelie  beleeve,  ev'n  basely  laying  to  her  charge  the 
gravest  sins,  and  summoning  a  jury  of  peeres  delivered  the 
Queene  for  tryal  and  sentence.  His  act  doth  blacken 
pitch.  Ev'n  her  father,  sitting  amidst  the  peeres  before 
whom  shee  was  tried,  exciteth  not  so  much  astonishment 
since  hee  was  forc'd  thereto. 

Henry's  will  was  done,  but  hardly  could  hee  restraine 
the  impatience  that  sent  him  forth  from  his  pallace  at  th' 
hour  of  her  execution  to  an  eminence  neare  by,  in  order 
to  catche  th'  detonation  (ation)  of  th'  field  peece  whose 
hollow  tone  tolde  the  moment  at  which  th'  cruell  axe  fell, 
and  see  the  blacke  flag,  that  signall  which  floated  wide  to 
tell  the  worl4  she  breath'd  no  more. 

Th'  hast  with  which  hee  then  went  forward  with  his 
marriage,  proclaym'd  the  reall  rigor  or  frigidity  of  his 
hart.  It  is  by  all  men  accompted  strange,  this  subtile 
power  by  which  soe  many  of  the  peeres  could  be  forc'd  to 
passe  sentence  upon  this  lady,  when  proofes  of  guilt  were 
nowhere  to  bee  produced.  In  justice  to  a  memorie  dear 
to  myselfe,  I  must  aver  that  it  is  far  from  cleare  yet,  upon 
what  charge  shee  was  found  worthie  of  death.     It  must  of 


IN  NOVUM  ORGANUM.  89 

neede  have  beene  some  quiddet  of  th'  lawe,  that  chang'd 
some  harmlesse  words  into  anything  one  had  in  minde,  for 
in  noe  other  waye  could  speech  of  hers  be  made  wrongful!. 
Having  f ayl'd  to  prove  her  untrue,  nought  could  bring 
about  such  a  resulte,  had  this  not  (have)  beene  accomplish'd. 

Thus  was  her  good  fame  made  a  reproache,  and  time 
hath  not  given  backe  that  priceles  treasure.  If  my  plaie 
shal  shew  this  most  clearly,  I  shall  be  co'tente.  And  as 
for  my  roiall  grandsire,  whatever  honour  hath  beene  lost 
by  such  a  course,  is  re-gain'd  by  his  descendants  from  the 
union,  through  this  lovi'g  justification  of  Anne  BuUe',  his 
murther'd  Queene. 

Before  I  go  further  with  instructions,  I  make  bold  to  say 
that  th'  benefits  we  who  now  live  in  our  free  England 
reape  [are]  from  her  faith  and  unfayling  devotion  to  th' 
advancement,  that  she  herselfe  promoting,  beheld  well 
undertaken.  It  was  her  most  earnest  beliefe  in  this  re- 
markable and  widelie  spread  effecte  on  th'  true  prosperitie 
of  the  realme,  and  not  a  love  o'  dignity  or  power, — if  the 
evidence  of  workes  be  taken, — that  co'strain'd  her  to  take 
upon  her  th'  responsibility  of  roialtie.  And  I  am  "fullie 
perswaded  in  mine  owne  minde  that  had  shee  lived  to  carry 
out  ^11  th'  work,  her  honours,  no  doubt,  had  outvied  those 
of  her  world-wide  famed  and  honour'd  daughter  who  con- 
tinu'd  that  which  had  beene  so  well  commenc'd. 

I  am  aware  many  artes  waned  in  the  raignes  of  Edward 
and  bloodie  Mary,  also  that  their  recovery  must  have 
requir'd  patient  attention  and  the  expenditure  of  money 
my  mother  had  no  desire  so  to  imploy,  having  many  other 
things  at  that  time  by  which  th'  coffers  were  drayn'd 
subtly;  but  that  it  must  require  farre  greater  perseverance 
in  order  to  begin  so  noble  work,  devising  th'  plannes  and 


90  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

• 
ayding  in  their  execution,  cannot    be    impugn'd.     Many 

times  these  things  do  not  shewe  lightness  or  th'  vanitie 

which  some  have  laid  to  her  charge. 

However  th'  play  doth  reveale  this  better,  farre,  then  I 
wish  t'  give  it  in  this  Cypher,  therefore  I  begge  that  it 
shall  bee  written  out  and  kept  as  a  perpetual  monument  of 
my  wrong'd,  but  innocent  ancestresse. 

My  keies  mentio'd  in  the  beginning  of  this  most  helpfull 
work,  will  follow  in  this  place: — *     *     *     * 

As  hath  most  frequentlie  bin  said  these  will  write  th^ 
play,  but  th'  foregoing  abridgeme't,  or  argtiment,  wil  ayde 
you.  In  good  hope  of  saving  th'  same  from  olde  Father 
Time's  ravages,  heere  have  I  hidden  this  Cypher  play.  To 
you  I  entruste  th'  taske  I,  myselfe,  shall  never  see  com- 
plete, it  is  probable,  but  soe  firme  is  my  conviction  that  it 
must  before  long  put  up  its  leaves  like  th'  plant  in  th' 
sunne,  that  I  rest  contente  awaiting  that  time. 

Soone  wil  my  discypherer  finde  another  kind  of  drama 
that  shall  give  as  great  varietie  to  th'  interiour  plays  as 
hath  beene  noted  in  the  exteriour.  It  is  a  comedy  having 
for  its  actors  divers  whom  I  have  used  to  masque  myselfe 
from  sight,  having  a  co'stant  feare  lest  my  name  should  be 
found.  . 

Ill  would  mj  work  fare  if  fate  remov'd  me  ere  they  were 
finish'd,  and  ill  my  very  life  itselfe  would  have  fared,  if 
my  plays,  which  I  then  composed,  had  bene  kno^vne  to  be 
the  work  o'  my  hand,  to  Queene  E — ,  who  as  hath  beene 
said  previously,  publiquely  tearm'd  herselfe  a  mayden- 
queene,  whylst  mfe  to  th'  Earle  of  Leicester.  By  th' 
union,  myselfe  and  one  brother  were  th'  early  fruits, 
princes  by  no  meanes  basely  begot,  but  so  farre  were  wee 
from  being  properly  acknowledg'd,  in  our  youth  we  did 


IN  NOVUM  ORGANUM.  91 

not  surmise  ourselves  other  then  the  sonne-  of  the  Lord 
Keeper  of  the  Seale,  Nicholas  Bacon,  in  the  one  case,  and 
of  th'  Earle  of  Essex,  Walter  Dev'reux,  in  the  other. 

Several  yeares  had  gone  by  ere  our  true  name  or  anie  of 
th'  conditions  herein  mentioned,  came  to  our  knowledg'. 
In  truth,  even  then  the  revelation  was  in  a  measure  acci- 
dental!— albeit  'twas  made  by  my  mother — her  wrath  over 
one  of  my  boylike  impulses  driving  her  to  admissions 
quite  unthought,  wholy  unpremeditated,  but  when  thus 
spoken  to  our  hearing,  not  to  bee  retracted  or  denyed. 

But  as  wel" might  all  this  sleep  ev'n  yet  in  the  past  as, 
f arre  from  advancing  the  state  of  these  sonnes,  shee  cast  off 
all  thought,  or  interesse  in  th'  wellfare  of  her  owne,  to 
advance  that  of  men  no  waye  depending  on  her.  So  this 
ill-advised  disregard  of  the  birtli-right  prerogative,  pow'r, 
dignity  and  honour,  by  lawe  Divine  due  to  the  princes  of 
this  realme,  many  times  made  evidente  to  us,  moved  my 
brother  to  the  rash  measure  that  was  soone  conceyv'd  and 
as  sodainlie  ended.  Without  doubt,  sense  o'  injustice 
stung  a  proud  spirit  like  his  past  th'  boundes  of  a  patience 
at  noe  time  remarkable  or  well  foster'd  by  the  atmospheare 
of  the  Courte. 

Furthermore  noe  thought  so  holds  th'  imagination  of 
youth  as  that  o'  imperial!  power.  We  crave  Caesar's  law- 
rell  crowne  at  cost  of  sleepelesse  houres  in  the  night,  and 
wearie  toyle  by  daye.  I  can  undertake  such  a  feeling 
better  then  most,  having  had  th'  same  interesse  in  a  degree 
much  greater,  and  in  so  vastlie  better,  right  or  title. 

Th'  comedie  that  I  nam'd  here  is  entituled  somewhat 
boldlie,  Solomon  the  Second.  I  am  myselfe  represented 
by  him,  th'  seeker  in  the  depth  of  learning,  appall'd  at  th' 
daring  of  mine  almost  unpremeditated  plunge  but  like  that 


92  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

antient  heroej  asking  still  for  light  to  go  on  in  my  quest. 
Much  of  this  is  in  my  play  of  altogather  differe't  kind  but 
not  more  suited  in  th'  young  hero  of  th'  one,  in  my  think- 
ing, then  in  the  second  which  hath  th'  ending  soe  happy 
that  it  can,  in  right,  have  mention  as  one  quite  pleasing,  if 
not  th'  best   among  my  comedies. 

Herein  is  a  short  historic  of  it  that  will  assist  verie  much 
in  the  task  of  bringing  the  play  together — as  seen  in  all  I 
have  done.  Th'  scene  oft  is  chang'd,  yet  the  first  is  Gor- 
hambury:  time  early  morne;  day  shewing  faintlie  in  th' 
sky  and  low  lights  burning,  partlie  revealing  a  scroll,  a 
penne,  an  ink-stande,  many  bookes  having  the  leaves 
turned  by  a  wind  very  softly  comming  in  at  th'  caseme't. 

My  foster-father  standing  by  me  thus  spake:  "Tell  me, 
my  Salamon,  wilt  thou  embrace  thy  fatheres  precepts 
graven  in  thy  heart — "  with  some  of  the  following  lines 
where  the  answer  that  I  gave  will  also  be  found.  After 
his  exit  is  the  soliloquy. 

The  next  scene  openeth  on  th'  faraway  sea-coast  duely 
putting  my  numerous  devices  into  immediate  examination, 
making  many  enquiries  in  th'  fielde  of  nature  concearning 
hidden  things,  beginning  thus  my  Sylva  Sylvaru'  not  yet 
finish' d. 

Th'  next  in  my  owne  chamber  a  second  time,  in  con- 
verse, earnest  and  impassioned,  with  my  mother  persewing 
a  similar  theame. 

The  fourth  scene  is  in  a  publique  hall,  where  one  of  the 
earliest  of  my  dramas  is  on  this  poore  stage.  Half  my 
heart  goes  out  after  fame,  while  half  still  longes,  as  hath 
justly  approv'd  itselfe  by  th'  foregoing  scene,  after  greater 
or  fuler  truth,  free  from  doubt  or  suspect. 


IN  NOVUM  ORGANUM.  93 

To  leave  a  true  record  of  th'  chiefe  incidents  of  th' 
raigne  of  my  mother,  Queene  Elizabeth,  which  for  various 
reasons  required  secrecy,  manie  were  my  devices  so  skill- 
fiillie  brought  forth  that  all  escapt  notice,  simple  as  many 
o'  them  are,  and  as  th''  play  is  supos'd  to  bee  that  of  Chris- 
t'pher  Marley,  much  secret  matte'  doth  masque  i'  th'  play. 
Seeing  th'  good  favour  it  doth  win,  my  plan  doth  at  once 
put  forth  such  compleate  forme  that  I  no  longer  ask 
myselfe  a  question,  hut  carrie  forwards  th'  many  dramas 
in  much  hast. 

The  second  act  doth  give  the  resulte, — many  of  the 
authors,  soe  call'd,  appeas'd  by  th'  balm  of  gold  when  the 
plays  were  thought  of  noe  valew,  disputing  fiercely  when 
beholders  aplaud,  each  claymeing  the  author,  his  lawrells. 
In  these  scenes  is  much  wit  ingaged,  many  songs  shall  also 
bee  used  therein  making  th'  action  light  and  joviall.  Place, 
where  th'  remayni'g  acts  transpire,  is  London. 

Those  jests  of  Geo.  Peele  have  place  in  acts  twoo,  three, 
part  o'  four  (th'  first  portion)  and  a  small  part  0'  th'  final] 
act.  In  scene  two,  act  four,  diverse  strange  acts  by  experi- 
ments in  magicke  are  seene,  for  which  the  discyph'rer  shal 
seeke  in  many  places,  chiefly  in  that  youthly  production 
which  was  entitul'd  Friar  Bacon  and-so-forth.  To  this 
add  a  play  that  is  entitled  George-a-Greene  and  one  named 
Faustus  (to  write  these  comicke  see's)  the  David,  as  hath 
beene  said,  with  two  of  the  Shakespeare  plaies — Henrie 
Fift,  with  th'  Taming  o'  th'  Shrew. 

You  will  not  finde  this  as  oppressive  as  th'  tragedy.  Th' 
wittie  speakers  are  more  cheering  [than]  those  statelier 
ladies  or  gentlemen  of  that  early  time,  for  various  reasons, 
and  a  spirit  of  moving  mirth  informs  each  scene.   *  *  *  * 

Now  are  your  working  keis  ready  for  th'  decyphering. 


94  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

and  if  a  rule  long  since  conceal'd  in  the  former  publica- 
tions is  well  con'd,  I  thinke  it  may  ere  many  weeks  come 
forth  t'  th'  light.  I  will  however,  repeate  heere,  much  of 
th'  necessary  rule  and  th'  eheefe  plannes,  soe  that  clear 
notions  may  greatly  ayd  our  inve'tio'.  This  doth  some- 
what resemble  a  stone  structure,  or  many,  like  as  o'  severall 
varieties, — this  red  sand-stone,  that  granite,  divers  o'  noth- 
ing but  th'  common  stones  o'  th'  field,  yet  all  so  arrang'd, 
so  fitted  for  the  intend'  spaces,  that  no  mistake  doth  seeme 
probable.  The  keie-words  that  are  given,  are  to  signify 
into  which  especiall  structure  th'  numerous  hewen  stones 
are  to  bee  built.  The  joining-words  you  see  repeated  so 
frequently,  marke  the  portions  which  are  to  bee  joyned 
together  in  th'  perfect  whole,  .even  as  in  the  modell. 

It  doth  not  rest  with  the  stone-mason  to  shape  or  invent 
his  planne, — this  is  prepar'd  to  his  use, — so  in  this  my  tem- 
ple, the  model  hath  not  fayl'd  to  limne  as  bold  a  designe, 
which  th'  decyphere'  must  dutifuUie,  and  with  patience, 
bring  to  perfection. 

In  several  works  I  have  giv'n  rules,  example  to  ayde 
you,  keyes,  various  arguments,  abridgments  like  to  that 
given  above,  soe  that  my  decypherer  may  write  thi&  as 
easilie  as  any  other  work  ca'  be  accomplished. 

In  preparing  th'  portio's,  they  were  separated  by  th' 
keyes  that  wil  bring  them  againe  to  place,  and  as  hath 
beene  oft  mentioned,  this  will  set  decipherers  on  their  way ; 
but  th'  joining-words  must  be  found  to  match  the  parts 
togather.  Begin  at  once,  and  doe  not  tume  from  th'  taske 
I  have  assign'd  you  untill  the  whole  be  finished. 

In  order  to  present  the  greatest  number  o'  poemes  to  th' 
people  of  our  time,  while  in  this  work,  it  may  be  made 
som'what  easier  in  such  portion'  of  this  history  as  are  not 


IN  NOVUM  ORGANUM.  (KS 

of  secret  subjects;  and  in  many  such  I  finde  it  possible  to 
use  large  parts  in  one  place.     Furthermore  (e)  th'  work, 
becam'  very  ple'sing  to  such  a  degre  that  I  conceal'd  mat- 
ters most  commonplace,  and  harmefuU  truly  to  none,  I 
may   say.      One   intends   a   lesson   in   Christian   doctrine, 
shewing  out  clearlie  God's  purpose,  in  the  passion  of  the 
Christ.     Th'  moderne  poeme,  working  like  a  consenting  o' 
human  to  th'  Divine  minde,  soe  followeth  the  ancient  story 
that  th'  vers^  spirit  of  a  time  farre  past  doth  informe  the 
whole.     However,  writing  it  in  a  secret  manner  had  for 
its  chiefe  object  the  use  of  an  invention  I  greatlie  wished 
to  make  th'  best  in  use  to  transmit  most  worthie  subjects. 
Being  easy  to  insert,  not  hunted  or  recognis'd  soe  readily, 
the  new  Cypher  hath  requir'd  les  of  patience  and  giVn 
more  ple'sure  then  others. 

If  for  my  owne  hidden  story  this  now  in  your  use  lefte 
a  doubt  as  to  th'  suspition'  which  rise  within  th'  minde  that 
the  mater  m.':gll  be  dangerous,  I  have  as  you 'know,  from 
time  to  time,  writte'  such  thinges  in  this  also  as  were  not 
secret,  neythe'  important;  but  The  Pastorall  is  of  worth, 
of  interest  to  the  whole  world,  and  no  one  should  think  th' 
worke  put  on  this  is  (is)  not  wel  spent. 

The  story  is  to  work  on  carefree,  idole,  and  many  times 
youthfuU  and  unthinking  ones  who  might  like  the  story  in 
poetry,  if  of  melody  and  power,  so  stirri'g  th'  heart  that  it 
will  seeme  like  to  mi.isick  lightly  stealing  hither  fro'  th' 
courts  of  th'  sky.  Wise  men,  too,  may  find  this  story  in 
its  new  forme  goodly  reading. 

You  need  not  soe  mucli  ayde  to  decypher  a  work  like 
this,  for  th'  whole  story  is  as  it  is  related  in  the  Holy 
Scripture.    Five  stanzos  in  Spenser  give  a  planne,  or  model 


96  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

of  th'  poeme,  forming  a  prologue.  Noe  other  being  neces- 
sary, th'  keies  may  now  bee  deciphered.     *     *     *     * 

These  are  my  keies.  With  purposes  most  devout  I  put 
forth  this  epick  which  hath  for  its  theme  a  Divine  Lord 
and  Master,  made  like  to  man,  that  a  sin-cursed  world 
might  be  redeemed,  and  whylst  my  work  is  youthfull,  in 
everie  waye,  it  is  sav'd  from  th'  puerilitie  one  might  ex- 
pect, by  the  hight  th'  subject,  in  its  exalted,  divine  char- 
acter, still  sustaineth  in  prose  and  poetry. 

It  is  in  its  nature  farre  above  that  forme  which  would 
expresse  it,  and  as  th'  mighty  musicke  of  the  sea  when 
uplifted  by  winde  soundeth  loud,  though  wind  be  soon 
stay'd,  so  my  poeme  maketh  a  load  sound  that  doth  come 
home  to  men's  bosoms,  albeit  moved  by  a  passing  breath. 
The  life  of  the  man  who  was  the  living  God,  doth  shew 
what  all  life  might  be,  in  unselfish  ministry  to  th'  worldes 
needes.  It  is  given  to  every  man  who  will  inquire  of  a 
Heavenlie  Habbi  regarding  these  things,  as  it  hath  beene 
given  myself  e  to  knowe  what  the  power  within.  His  spirit, 
hath  come  into  this  world  to  do.  ISTone,  I  think,  would 
make  th'  old  plea  that  fate  or  chance  doth  control  his  owne 
nature,  yet  must  hee  owne  some  power  that  doth  sway 
men's  hearts  and  that  holdeth  our  existence, — the  issues  of 
life,  in  time  which  is  now,  and  is  to  be. 

I,  myselfe,  am  assured  that  to  labour  continually  tho' 
nere  bringing  in  my  ripe'd  grain,  is  raj  imposed  taske. 
The  only  worke  that  I  have  completed,  is  concealed  in 
Cypher  which  awaiteth  another  hand  then  this  to  bring  it 
forth,  as  you  know,  and  I  am  loath  to  shut  its  portalls. 

Oft  I  ask  vainlie  who  will* bee  so  endowed  that  none 
other  can  winne  him  from  my  work,  since  the  most  are  so 
lacking  in  sufiicient  perseverance,  that  no  severe  or  weary- 


IN  NOVUM  ORGANUM.  97 

some  taske  is  ere  concluded.  Some  few  think  it  disgrace- 
ful for  men  who  boast  godlike  abilitie  to  give  ore  their  hunt 
ere  winning  some  trophic,  yet  their  triumphes  are  not 
certaine.  Soe  weake  and  inconsta't  is  judgment,  when 
thinges  not  familiar  be  submitted,  first  wondering  much 
that  there  should  be  anything  to  be  found  out,  then  on  the 
othe'  side,  marveling  to  thinke  that  th'  world  had  soe  long 
gone  by  without  seeing  it. 

But  as  floodes  sweepe  awaie  such  things  as  bee  of  light 
waight,  leaving  along  the  course  heavy  bodies,  metals  or 
rockie  masses,  in  like  manner  the  thinges  which  have  suffi- 
cient waight  when  borne  on  downe  the  great  River  o'  Time 
shall  soone  be  found  preserv'd  fro'  waters,  although  ofte 
very  farre  dista't,  perchance,  and  amid  newe  scenes.  At 
that  time,  sooner  or  later,  my  triumph  must  thrill  my 
heart,  for  long  hath  the  labour  beene,  and  ofte  difficile. 
The  future  may  thus  in  a  measure  make  ^ood  the  past,  so 
that  I  shal,  perchance,  recover  [somewhat]  with  th'  gener- 
ations that  are  to  come.  Th'  hope  maketh  my  work  lesse 
heavy  and  m'  heart  lesse  sadde. 

A  play,  which  I  am  at  present  writing  engaged  upon, 
is  entitled, — because  of  the  sweete  lady  who  is  the  most 
important  person  of  all  having  beene  therein  repre- 
se'ted, — Th'  White  Rose  o'  Britaine.  A  large  portion  of 
the  aforesaid  is  in  that  unfinished  History  of  King  Henry 
Sev'nth.  It  is  prose  chiefely.  Th'  parts  which  I  intended 
to  have  versified  doe  make  up  such  an  important  part  of 
that  great  historic  th'  taske  would  have  bin  a  difficile  one, 
yet  in  manie  written  at  an  earlier  date  I  have  some  large 
portions  in  both  forms.  This  hath  made  my  owne  work 
greater,  ^but  hath  in  nowise  made  my  decypherer's  lesse, 
inasmuch  as  the  changes  had  againe  to  be  made  by  him- 


98  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

selfe  while  engaged  in  the  decyphering,  but  'Gtce  versa. 
In  example,  if  I  have  made  the  interio'  epistle  poetrie  and 
the  exterior  not  soe,  hee  must  versifie,  but  if  th'  interiour 
be  in  prose  and  the  exterior  in  verse  his  taske  is  light;  if 
both  be  the  same  it  is  easy  both  lo  read  and  write. 

The  keies  will  not  be  given  untill  th'  history  mentioned 
be  finish'd  but  when  he  doth  see  the  name  o'  Ladie 
Kath'rin«  Gordon  in  any  of  my  workes,  he  may  know  that 
I  speake  of  her, — th'  daughter  of  a  nobleman  of  Scotland, 
mine  Earle  o'  Huntley, — by  King  Henry  th'  Sevent 
named  White  Rose  of  Brittaine,  giving  to  her  beautie  th' 
titl'e  assum'd  by  her  husband,  th'  pretended  Duke  o'  Yorke. 

She  was  in  truth  verie  sweete  and  faire  in  forme  and 
feature,  gracing  the  name  hee,  dishonouring,  speedilie  lost. 
Her  wifely  devotion  to  th'  false  Duke,  hath  made  many 
tender  and  most  saddening  scenes  in  the  play.  It  winneth, 
also,  much  loVe  and  honor,  and  a  wondering  admiration, 
her  heart  shewing  great  strength  and  constancy. 

If  God  doth  grant  me  a  long  life  so  to  complete  these 
varied  labours,  it  shall  bee  well  for  th'  world,  since  I  am 
seeking  not  my  owne  honour,  but  th'  honor  and  advance- 
ment, th'  dignitie  and  enduring  good  of  all  mankinde. 

The  discipherer  may  finde  it  strange  I  write  th'  history 
o'  Henry  the  Seventh  both  as  a  play,  for  purposes  of  my 
Cypher,  and  as  a  prose  worke  to  publish  openly,  but  it 
may  bee  understood  at  some  future  day  farre  or  neare. 
The  reason  will  then  approve  (i)  itselfe,  for  a  play  should 
make  a  linke  in  this  chaine  and  the  history  mention'd  was 
requir'd  by  the  King. 

Secret  matters  do  not  make  up  these  interiour  epistles, 
m  many  cases.  Th'  evidence  such  plays  give^of  being 
from  th'  brayne  of  one  who  hath  for  manie  yeares  made 


IN  NOVUM  ORGANUM.  99 

liimself  acquainted  with  th'  formes  and  th'  methode — or 
art — of  this  dramaticke  or  representative  poetry,  maketh 
also  my  claime  to  o.ther  workes,  which  have  beene  publisht 
in  various  names,  undeniable.  The  worke  despight  a 
variety  of  styles,  is  mine  owne. 

Mania  will  not  thinke  the  masque  a  perfecte  vizard,  in- 
asmuch as  a  keene,  sharp  eye  might  possibly  at  some  time 
have  seene  my  features  beneath  it,  yet  it  hath  (ath)  oc- 
curr'd  so  seldome  nothing  hath  it  endanger'd  my  secret 
which  th'  Cypher  doth  herein  conceale,  as  't  hath  ever  a 
strong  safeguard.  Divided  many,  many  times  and  freely 
•scatter'd  into  my  divers  playes,  prose  writings,  or  poemes, 
truly  no  eye  is  so  wel-seeing  or  strong  it  could- pursue  a 
thread  so  fine  without  th'  Qu. 

Th'  keie-words  so  ofte  mention'd  are  not  noted  by  any 
save  one  wel-instructed  in  th'  Cyphers  which  have  beene 
consta'tlie  employ'd  in  my  worke.  Even  in  the  lesser 
Cyphers  I  have  so  shifted  the  course  of  all  these  stories 
that  some  must  have  tum'd  aside. 

I'  th'  King  Henry  the  Seventh  you  shall  finde  some  por- 
tions to  co'plete  that  plaie,  but  King  Henry  Eight  is  also 
requir'd,  with  Richard.  Of  most  historicall  plays  note 
one  mark'd  pointe  or  feature.  Some  likenesse  or  paralell 
is  to  bee  observed  in  them,  also  th'  events  of  one  raigne 
seeme  link'd  to  those  of  time  that  precedeth  or  doth  fol- 
lowe,  as  seene  in  such  as  I  have  sent  forth  from  time  t' 
time,  for  the  purposes  of  my  Cypher. 

The  part  in  Richard  [is]  of  so  mark'd  purpose,  some 
might  suppose  a  keye  might  not  bee  requir'd,  but  his  wit 
would  not  be  sufficient  to  put  the  portions  where  each  doth 
belong  wljen  found,  soe  that  little  can  be  accomplish'd,  as 
may  bee  seene;  neyther  would  ought  of  secret  Court  mat- 


100  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON, 

ters  ever  bee  so  exposed  in  print — nor  ev'n  personall  his- 
torie — as  that  in  th'  Cypher  epistles  cannot  even  yet  have 
th'  disguise  tome  harshelie  oil'.  Danger  might  shewe 
a  head. 

Th'  play,  of  which  I  have  given  the  title,  is  not  soe 
pleasing  as  it  might  be  with  sweete  Katherine  Gordon's 
love  scenes,  and  th'  Duke's  happy  songs  of  the  gaiety  of 
th'  princely  Court  of  England,  but  since  all  this  may  be 
scene  to  be  a  part  of  another  play,  it  will  bee  thought  well 
when  completed  that  I  robb  Henry  th'  Sevent  to  add  a 
grace  to  my  White  Eose.  Of  this  I  leave  posteritie  to 
judge,  confident  of  th'  decision  whe'  they  shall  both  bee 
discyphered. 

I  am  in  good  hope,  ev'n  yet,  I  may  see  this  work  com- 
pleted in  my  owne  mortall  life,  yet  voyces  sound  to  th' 
eare  making  th'  prophesy,  manie  times  repeated  here  as 
you  probablie  know,  of  a  long  future  and  of  a  land  that  is 
very  far  off.  But  for  th'  hope  of  a  future,  how  could  we 
bear  the  heat  and  burden  o'  th'  dale.  In  my  heart  th' 
whispers  of  hope  thus  have  long  made  a  sweete  song  in 
th'  night,  that  is  more  glad  and  joyous  then  anie  love  hath 
sung. 

All  th'  promises  of  th'  world's  glory  and  th'  opportuni- 
tie  to  acquire  gre't  learning  have  sometimes  made  havocke 
within  my  minde,  for  I  have  yearn'd  for  th'  honour  that 
would  now  come  to  me  if  I  had  not,  as  you  knewe  long 
since,  I  thinke,  beene  cut  off  by  th'  whim  of  my  roiall 
mother  fro'  princely  station,  shut  from  hope, — then,  or  in 
naturall  sequence  of  time  and  events, — of  succeeding  to 
th'  throne.  By  lawe  th'  kingdome  should  goe  directly  to 
th'  first  borne  sonne.  How  right  and  Divine  justice,  hav- 
ing beene  controled  by  a  woman's  unyeelding  spirit,  suf- 


/  IN  NOVUM  ORGANUM.  101 

fer'd  a  change,  is  made  cleare  and  evident  heer^in.  Much 
of  historie  thus  recorded  will  bee  strange  to  every  eye,  yet 
it  is  soe  true  that  it  can  but  bring  convictio'  to  all  who 
reade.  Th'  principall  Cypher  is  emploied  for  this,  nor 
shall  our  worke  thrive  well  if  it  bee  not  throughlie  dis- 
cypher'd. 

Some  might  not  trust  a  labour  of  yeeres  to  oblivio',  and 
hope  that  it  may  one  day  be  summon'd  to  take  upon  't, 
one  happy  sunlit  morning,  its  owne  forme;  yet  doth  some 
thought  upholde  me, — so  hopefully  my  hart  doth  cling  to 
its  last  desire,  I  write  on  each  "Resurgam,"  beleeving 
they  shall,  ev'n  like  man,  arise  from  the  dust  to  rejoyce 
againe  in  newnesse  of  life.  In  order  to  make  this  most 
complete  assurance  I  ^all  emploie  other  methodes — since 
wee  see  that  in  miracle-working  nought  was  done  without 
meanes — and  note  the  result,  having  prepar'd  alphabets 
of  Latine  letters  soe  that  everie  word  may  be  used  in  pre- 
faces, in  running  titles,  prologues  et  csetera.  Sometime  I 
intende  th'  use  of  these  dotted  letters  as  a  Cypher-planne, 
compleate  in  itselfe,  rathe'  then  a  meere  shift  to  confuse 
the  decypherer.  Th'  latter  I  purpose  using  first  in  my 
history  not  yet  finished,  the  other  I  wish  to  employ  i'  th' 
plaies  whe'  republisht. 

So  few  can  bee  put  forth  as  first  written  without  a 
slighte  revision,  and  many  new  being  also  made  ready,  my 
penne  hath  little  or  noe  rest.  I  am  speaking  of  those 
plaies  that  were  suppos'd  "Wm.  Shakespeare's.  If  these 
should  be  pass'd  over  and  none  should  disceme  th'  secret 
epistles,  I  must  needs  make  alphabets  shewing  th'  manner 
of  employing  th'  Cyp'er.  However,  I  shall  use  letters  that 
differ  from  th'  type  I  heere  emploie,  not  wishing,  at  pres- 
ent, to  give  a  device  that  hath  caused  so  manie  sleepelesse 


102  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

nights  and  such  troubled  daies,  freely,  even  as  one  would 
tell  the  meaning  of  a  riddle  to  a  child,  o'  solve  some  school- 
boy's problems. 

I  have  shewne  some  wit  heerein.  Let  him  that  would 
be  a  discypherer  do  the  same  and  win  the  prize  by  strife, 
if  indeed  at  all. 

When  I  first  unburdened  my  heart  o'  th'  story  in  this 
waye,  I  had  co'stantlie  much  o'  feare  lest  my  secret  bee 
s'ented  forth  by  some  hound  o'  Queene  Elizabeth ;  my  life 
might  paye  th'  forfeit  and  the  world  be  no  wiser  then 
before.  But  that  danger  is  past  long  ere  now  and  nought 
but  the  jealousy  of  the  King  is  to  bee  feared,  and  that 
more  in  dread  of  effecte  on  the  hearts  of  the  people,  then 
any  feare  of  th'  presentation  of  my  claime,  knowing  as  he 
doth,  that  all  witnesses  are  dead  and  the  requir'd  docu- 
ments destroy'd. 

Naturallie  it  must  cause  some  i'quiry  within  the  minde 
as  to  my  intended  course  or  what  it  would  be  like  to  bring 
to  pass,  for  'tis  true  that  his  clayme  would  ranke  second 
onely  to  Elizabeth's  issue.  It  must  give  some  little  pause 
to  his  mounting  thoughts  when  his  realme  hath  a  claimant 
in  th'  aforesaid  issue. 

For  this  worthie  reason  the  secret  should  bee  kept 
within  th'  hearts  of  th'  men  who  will  hold  it  sacredly,  even 
as  one  doth  a  pledge.  Future  daies  shall  give  th'  world 
my  worke  and  I  shall  then  be  contente. 

In  my  great  Cipher  you  Avill  se  manie  finished  workes, 
besides  the  two  mention'd  not  quite  ready  fo'  this  now  in 
hand.  As  you  know  well,  this  must  be  done  while  it  is 
printing.  jSTo  time  doth  slip  by  unoccupied,  and  everie 
day  hath  its  tasks.  Without  wearying  of  the  selfe-assura'd 
but — as  hath  soe  many  a  time  i'  th'  Cypher  epistles  beene 


IN  NOVUM  ORGANUM.  103 

noted — essentiall  labours,  our  hand  will  work  untill 
Death's  blacke  shadowe  fall  acrosse  th'  day.   ' 

The  exteriour  plays  will  bee  the  sure  proofe,  if  such 
proof e  be  necessary,  that  my  word  is  th'  truth;  for  no  one 
hath  ability  to  write  Avith  greater  ease  then  myselfe,  yet 
without  much  time  spent  on  work  [sjo  difficult  this  should 
be  a  number  very  much  smaller.  But  one  who  thinketh 
to  rewrite  my  hidden  matters,  shall  imploy  his"  time  in 
th'  same  way,  or  his  work  shall  come  somewhat  behinde 
mine  in  quantity. 

When  all  shal  be  complete  th'  plays  number  thirteen. 
Of  th'  histories  I  have  already  me'tioned,  two  are  prose, 
mostlie,  i.  e.,  a  life  of  my  brother  who  bore  th'  cognomen 
Devereux, — ^th'  title,  Earle  o'  Essex, — that  of  Th'  Raigne  o' 
King  Henry  the  Sevent;  but  I,  having  seene  it  emploi'd 
thus  with  very  good  effect,  f ounde  it  very  convenient  here 
in  th'  Cypher  playes,  since  i'  th'  interiour  play  th'  forme  is 
the  same  as  that  of  th'  exteriour,  making  my  labours  farre 
easier.  * 

For  others,  I  have  made  use  generally,  as  hath  beene 
said,  of  verse,  employing  the  same  as  found  in  the  plays 
I  have  publish'd,  but  as  many  parts  that  appertayne  to 
such  interiour  plays  have  been  chang'd  into  a  prose  forme 
in  th'  finish'd  work,  he  who  decyphers  these  should  knowe 
somewhat  of  th'  manner  of  turning  from  one  forme  to  th' 
other.  Th'  White  Rose,  giveth  a  good  experience  in 
labour  of  th'  kind  mention'd,  but  in  both  the  others  of 
which  wee  now  speake,  hee  shall  see  that  it  is  requir'd  of 
him,  even  there,  if  all  be  put  [in]  order. 

As  there  be  two  workes  entitled  th'  Historic  of  R — 
Earle  o'  Essex,  some  of  the  key-words  will  bee  seene  to  bee 
similar,  yet  the  parts  are  easily  kept  from  confusion  by  th' 


104  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

joining-wordes.  They  are  alike  dramaticall  and  historicall. 
One,  however,  is  a  tragedy  giving  that  awefuU  death  that 
still  doth  seeme  fresh  within  my  memory,  as  if  no  long 
night-vigils,  comming  betweene  longer  dales  of  labour, 
dull'd  the  quick  sense.  If  it  were  noe  longer  past  then 
yesternight,  it  could  no'  come  before  mee  more  distinctly 
then  it,  to-day,  standeth  forth,  T^T-inging  my  heart  with 
paine  that  never  ceaseth  by  day  or  night.  O  Grod,  Father 
of  all  that  dwell  above  or  below,  give  blessed  light  from 
Thy  throne  on  high.  Shed  cleere  radiance  from  Thine 
owne  glorie  acrosse  th'  blacke  night.  No  weary  work  can 
close  my  heart's  doors  'gainst  a  Heavenly  Guest.  Lift 
Thou  me  up  in  gentle  love  and  make  Thy  countenance  to 
shine  upon  me  as  of  olde. 

If  it  be  decipher'd  alreadie,  it  is  reveal'd  to  my  discy- 
pherer  that  remorse  doth  make  my  griefe  so  bitter,  for  my 
very  life  did  hang  on  that  thread,  and  by  th'  truth  my 
brother  was  attainte,  yet  faine  would  I  now  chose  an  hun- 
dred shamefuU  deaths  then  ayde  to  send  a  brothe'  into 
Etemitie. 

In  this  shall  bee  made  cleare,  in  my  owne  history,  for 
my  rightfuU  and  true  justification  before  the  world.  Farre 
off  the  day  may  be,  yet  in  time  here  or  hereafter,  it  shall 
bee  understood.  Though  sorrowe  is  my  constant  com- 
panion now,  joy  shall  come  on  that  m'rning.  Having 
these  hopes,  then,  though  many  a  sorrowe  smite  mee,  my 
heart  faileth  not. 

In  th'  Cypher  history,  everything  relative  t'  th'  actes 
that  can  give  truer  conception  o'  th'  whole,  will  bee  as 
freely  set  forth  as  all  must  be  at  the  great  Day  of  Judg- 
ment. 

When  one  doth  write  with  feare  of  betrayal,  hee  car- 


IN  NOVUM  ORGANUM.  105 

rieth  the  historic  brokenly;  hee  warily  doth  tume  to  some 
other  thought,  not  liking  to  appear  occupied  with  a  great 
theame,  nor  to  value  his  labours.  The  hidden  historic  is 
somewhat  like  th'  tortoise,  that  scarcely  putt(t)eth  his 
head  out  o'  th'  shell  but  he  endangereth  th'  whole  body, 
and  my  worke  is  lesse  pleasi'g  to  write,  or  decypher,  from 
th'  shifts  of  many  sortes  neceasarie  to  preserve  th'  secret 

Th'  principall  history  is,  as  you  may  suppose,  my  owne, 
yet  it  is  soe  much  mixt  or  twin'd  into  manic  others  herein 
given,  that  it  is  a  taske  putting  them  together,  as  you  per- 
haps well  know.  The  work  will  not  be  complete  untill 
my  death.  It  may  then  fall  short  of  many  things  I  have 
long  desir'd  to  chrystalize,  as  might  be  said,  in  a  solide, 
unperishing  rock.  However,  when  Deathe  shall  cut  short 
my  toyle,  there  should  bee  another  to  carry  it  forward  that 
it  may  lacke  as  little  as  possibl'.  Th'  labour  shall  be 
lighter  then  mine  hath  ever  bin. 

Th'  whole  being  of  soe  much  worth,  he  cannot  meetly 
omit  any,  or,  as  hath  many  times  [been]  me'tion'd,  will- 
fully marre  this  planne  save  where  for  th'  reasons  knowne, 
much  repetition  is  employ'd,  at  first,  in  order  to  aford 
many  beginnings,  so  that  the  decypherer  would  most  asur- 
edly  find  a  door  of  such  size,  of  so  inviting  outside  appear- 
ance, he  must,  I  doubt  it  not,  enter  to  see  what  he  perhaps 
may  discover.  If  he  shall  publish  what  is  conceal'd  herein, 
let  him  winnowe  it  well;  if  he  doeth  it  not  the  booke  must 
displease  which  should  afford  pleasure. 

Mania  might  find  this  not  like  a  weU  arrang'd  work, 
carefully  plann'd  throughout.  Such  an  opinion  might 
rise  from  a  slight  knowledge  of  the  design.  I  assure  you 
that  anie  who  mil  patiently  work  out  the  whole  hidden 
history,  minding  well  my  instructions,  shal  make  much 


106  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

progresse  in  th'  knowledge  that  I  desire  to  shewe  him, 
which  sufficiently  rewards  his  efforts.  Atchieveme't  is 
itselfe  a  reward,  yeelding  sweetest  renowme. 

This  of  which  I  now  am  speaking,  putteth  the  deci- 
pherer in  full  possession  of  much  knowledge  he  can  in  no 
other  way  obtaine,  not  onely  the  unpublish'd  history,  but 
newe  meanes  of  transmitting,  so  that  he  may,  himselfe, 
communicate  all  kinds  of  messages,  according  to  his  w^ll 
and  pleasure,  and  write  "omnia  per  omnia,"  which  indeed 
is  th'  highest  degree  of  such  art  thou'h  fewe  have  attain'd 
to  soe  unusuall  knowledge  for  manie  purposes.  Any  man 
who  hath  a  mind  that  hath  not  only  power  but  a  faculty 
of  invention,  hath  way  of  getting  the  humoures  from  his 
bloud,  for  it  allaieth  paine,  when  distrust,  discontentment 
and  secret  woes, — ills  or  wrongs  one  liketh  not  to  speake 
of, — may  mildly  worke  and  clear;  but  wounds  bleeding  in- 
wardly, may  oft  be  the  cause  of  ulcers  yet  more  malignant, 
or  imposthumations  sowing  seeds  of  future  ill.  So  this 
Cypher  shal  be  us'd  to  give  my  illes  and  tortured  thoughts 
expression,  albeit  it  doth  without  doubte,  seeme  incredible 
unto  those  that  know  not  this  principle  that  a  man  is 
[more]  refresh'd  and  cheer'd  within  the  mind  by  profiting 
in  lesser  matters,  then  by  standi'g  at  a  stay  in  greater. 

'Tis  not  of  others  that  I  write  soe  much,  as  of  experi- 
ences uncommon,  and  I  hope  to  most,  impossible,  but  this 
hath  beene  a  me'nes  of  achievement  of  a  labour  for  our 
fellowes  few  could  performe.  If  my  selfishnesse  hath  im- 
pell'd  me  more  then  was  proper,  I  trust  somewhat  to 
knowledge  of  like  errors  in  their  conducte;  these  teach 
man  to  judge  his  brother  leniently.  A  man  must  observe 
all  sortes  of  forme  or  ceremony  in  his  oute'  life,  but  the 
heart  hath  its  own  freedome  and  hath  no  humane  ruler. 


IN  NOVUM  ORGANUM.  107 

However,  himselfe  is  but  meager  end  to  a  man's  seeking 
when  it  is  made  first  and  chiefe,  soe  also,  is  hee  a  poore 
middle  pointe,  center  and  axis  of  least  action.  His  soule 
is  little  akin  to  things  celestiall,  if  like  th'  earth  he  stand- 
eth  fast  on  his  center,  for  things  that  have  afiinity  with 
th'  heavens,  move  on  th'  center  of  another.  If  hee  would 
not  be  too  earthy,  akinne  to  th'  dust,  let  him  go  forth  in 
quest  of  knowledge,  so  we  wide  this  true  seede  which  may 
beare  fruit  to  give  glad  harvests  in  the  Eones  to  come. 

This  Cypher  doth  tell  our  motiv's  for  a  labour  we  com- 
menc'd,  long  since,  in  so  f arre,  at  least,  as  a  man  knoweth 
them  himselfe.  'Tis  lacke  of  some  predominant  wish,  a 
longing  that  putteth  in  order  all  others  by  its  force,  that 
doth  render  th'  heart  hard  t'  sound,  or  t'  finde;  but  our 
predominant  desire  shew'd  so  plaine  the  greatest  things, 
and  the  least,  in  life,  as  it  doth  nowe  seeme,  and  illes  can- 
not make  the  purpose  weaker. 

Long  yeeres  ago,  when  th'  Cypher  in  use  at  th'  pres- 
e't, — ^in  th'  Avorkes  we  publish  as  those  of  authors  that  wee 
nam'd  some  time  past,  togather  with  all  publish'd  with  th' 
name  by  which  we  are  now  known  put  upo'  title  pages, — 
gave  such  a  good  asurance  that  secrets  of  great  valew 
might  safelie  be  entrusted  to  its  keeping,  strong  wish  to 
make  it  soe  carry  our  invention  itself  e,  to  other  times,  also, 
made  constante  employment  of  it  a  necessitie.  Although 
the  resolution  grew  ever  stronger,  'tis  a  thing  rare,  as  you 
well  know,  this  keeping  of  a  purpose  unalter'd  tlirough 
every  change  of  a  man's  life, — so  difficult  as  to  seeme  im- 
possible; yet  are  we  so  firmly  fix'd  now  in  the  resolve,  it 
would  be  impossible  for  us  to  yeeld  it  up. 

In  actus  quartus,  scena  quinta,  of  the  play  entituled 
Salomon  th'  Second,  th'  motif  clearlie  sheweth.     Every 


108  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

hart  knoweth  its  owne  bitter,  and  a  strange'  intermeddleth 
not  with  its  joy.  As  our  story  shall  be  fully  deeypher'd 
you  may  understand  twoo  things  that  doe  not  appeare  in 
anie  history  written  openlie,  viz.  Queene  Elizabeth,  her 
secret  union  with  th'  Earle  o'  Leicester  whylst  confined  m 
London's  Tower;  also  a  story  relative  to  early  scandals,  this 
Queene's  intercourse  with  Seymour,  Admirall  of  England, 
sent  buzzing  through  all  this  realme.  As  a  portion  of  this 
history,  th'  other  sad  tale  giving  th'  storie  of  the  unwell- 
come  birth  of  the  Queene's  offspring,  ourselfe,  and  Robt., 
late  Earle  of  Essex,  and  also  of. Ewe,  may  soone  reveale 
what  is  our  wrong  that  did  make  a  meanes  securing  pub- 
lique  triall  of  a  waighty  case,  a  necessity. 

Our  light  hath  burned  lowe,  the  beames  of  morning 
now  burst  upo'  our  longing  gaze  and  put  to  flight  the 
black  night's  dragons  of  brooding  gloom.  For  ourselfe 
th'  future  bringeth  surcease  of  sorrowe.  Had  we  no  secret 
labours  to  performe,  gladly  would  we  listen  for  th'  footfall 
of  Death,  the  somber  herald;  yet  our  wish  is  not  as  might 
afford  our  own  life  pleasure,  till  it,  our  work,  be  compleate, 
inasmuch  as  this  is  more  trulie  good  and  important,  wee  do 
nothing  doubt,  then  the  works  which  our  hand  openUe 
performeth. 

Th'  want  o'  truth  in  items  our  pare't  had  recorded, 
vvould  hold  backe  from  th'  world  all  true  knowledge  of  this 
leaf  of  her  history  which  doth  concerne  other  lives'  destiny 
nearly.  .  None  write  all  that  doth  shew  in  our  epistle;  fewe 

have  scene  the that  would  bee  like  proofes  o'  Holy 

Writ;  but  of  all  which  may  by  eythe'  Cipher  lend  colour  of 
good  or  evill  to  characters  here  pourtray'd,  wee  can  give 
such  confirmation  as  dotli  shut  th'  lips  of  those  who  still 
ask:  "How  could  these  things  bee?" 


IN  NOVUM  ORGANUM.  109 

It  must  be  said,  however,  in  passi'g,  that  a  number  of 
papers  were  seiz'd,  and  many  have  beene  subsequentlie 
destroyed,  so  that  we  could  not  wel  lay  clayme  to  th'  scep- 
ter, and  establish  it  beyonde  a  doubt,  ev'n  whylst  our 
parents  be  known  to  be  royall  and  honourable,  being  truely 
wedded.  Furthermore,  being  late,  having  like  others  who 
have  bin  drawne  two  waies  lost  much  time  in  deliberation, 
th'  face  of  our  claime  clouded,  so  that,  questioning  of 
England's  prosperity,  we  doubted  our  proper  right  to  sever 
Brittaine,  fortunatelie  united,  but  unfortunatelie  king'd. 

Love  hath  th'  good  of  the  dear  object  most  at  heart,  and 
with  our  true  love  of  our  kingdome  on  the  one  hand,  there 
was  th'  ability  to  rule  wisely  and  to  edify  and  build  up  th' 
broken  walls,  on  the  other;  also  as  hath  beene  mention'd 
before,  a  firm  persuasi'n  in  our  owne  mind  that  th'  pow'r 
of  a  soveraigne  doth  not  shewe  most  in  large  domains,  in 
having  more  people,  but  ruling  with  equity.  A  king  shall 
be  wise  to  bee  great.  Th'  state  is  as  th'  sovereigne  is;  or 
as  th'  prince  is,  ev'n  so  are  the  people. 

With  firm  faith  in  simple  justice  for  everie  suitor,  and 
divers  ways  by  which  one  end,  one  goale,  is  won,  this  our 
desire  hath  slightly  bent,  or  diverg'd,  and  tum'd  upon 
tracks  not  so  well  made,  so  that  our  object  may  some  day 
be  attain'd,  although  fate  haste  to  close  th'  doore  of  hope 
o'  entering  upon  our  true  right. 

Bitter  the  portio'  that  was  ours  till  our  mounting  spirit 
rose  above  th'  Styx  that  encircled  us,  as  in  th'  under  world; 
Greeke  poets  have  sung  of  the  souls  of  ancie't  heroes 
hem'd  round,  [that]  tasted  its  waters,  standing  breast  high 
in  its  blacke  filth. 

In  the  workes  which  appeare  bearing  our  plaine  name 
on  th'  title  pages,  this  doth  so  manifest  itselfe  it  needeth 


110  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

not  that  wee  pause  to  explaine.  In  th'  early  Essays  and 
Philosophical!  Workes  these  purposes  do  stand  forth  so 
plain,  we  thinke  it  is  love's  lost  labour  to  point  out  the 
designe.  However  this  is  otherwise  in  th'  secret  part,  for 
altho'  our  apparent  designe  must  be  our  selfe-advancement, 
none  can  holde  that  to  be  unpardonable  in  th'  royall  prince 
whom  destinie  hath  despoil'd  in  so  great  a  degre.  ,Th' 
desire  to  leave  the  world  true,  unbias'd  history,  doth  so 
stirre  and  rouse  our  energies,  that  we  doubt  th'  worst  motif 
chideth  the  best  by  no  such  question.  Palliation  of  that 
offence  can  bee  found,  and  this  long  labor  be  awarded 
the  honor  due  this  invention. 

And  also  when  our  patient  hand  and  penne,  our  un- 
wearied worker,  our  discypherer,  hath  done  the  part  our 
devise  imposeth  on  him,  there  shall  not,  we  thinke,  be  any 
minde  that  doth  waigh  things  justly,  ill  or  well  suited  as 
the  case  may  bee,  that,  seeing  th'  result  of  our  labor,  shall 
finde  faulte  or  speake  lightlie  of  our  simple  planne  which 
may  thus  come  forth  in  complete  forme  ev'n  as  created. 

In  th'  beginning  our  Word  Cypher  is  such  as  will  be 
decipher'd  with  most  ease,  after  the  designe  shall  bee  fully 
seene,  and  the  entire  planne  well  learned.  It  was  in  use 
early.  In  many  o'  th'  inventions — this  and  all  smaller 
ones — one  booke,  or  at  the  most  two  or  three,  contained  all 
of  a  single  worke.  This  is  otherwise  in  our  Word  Cypher, 
inasmuch  as  the  hidden  history  extendeth  through  works 
of  numerous  designes  and  kinds  that  have  beene  put  out 
from  time  to  time  for  severall  yeeres.  All  workes  we  pub- 
lish'd  under  names,  have  some  parts  of  the  story,  as  hath 
beene  said,  for  our  whole  Cypher  plan  doth  possesse  one 
feature  much  to  be  commended,  that  of  perfecte  safety. 
A  storie  cannot  be  followed  untill  all  shall  be  found. 


IN  NOVUM  ORGANUM.  HI 

Th'  different  stories  being  placed  therein  as  our  work  was 
done,  none  can  make  an  end  untill  th'  links  o'  th'  twisted 
chaine  bee  follow'd,  now  into  one  booke,  now  into  another, 
as  a  river  doth  bende,  or  roads  by  manie  tortuous  waies, 
wind  bj  these  countrey  houses,  for  no  historic  hath  ended 
yet.  ISTone  who  began  to  reade  this  story,  or  worke  out 
these  Cyphers,  came  to  an  end  of  anything,  because  no 
part  could  be  compleated  untill  all  bee  compleated.  This 
doth  grow  from  the  plann  itself e,  the  fragments  being  kept 
many  long  yeeres,  small  portions  being  used  at  one  time, 
sometimes  in  our  Spenser's  name,  Marlowe's,  Peele's  and 
Shakespeare's,  anon  Greene's,  mine,  also  Ben  Jonson's, 
affording  our  diverse  masques  another  colour,  as  'twere,  to 
baffle  all  seekers,  to  which  we  shall  add  Burton's. 

As  harried  beasts  haste  to  th'  shelter  of  a  boskie  knolle 
when  death  seemes  sure,  soe  doe  wee,  in  danger,  hide  in 
these  woodie  hills,  safe  as  any  conie  'mid  the  rocks. 

This  Cyphar  will  make  the  Word  Cypher  more  plaine, 
and  it  is  chiefly  in  ayding  its  deciphering  that  all  others  that 
have  beene  found  do  give  some  rules.  It  is  our  most  im- 
porta't  Cypher,  having  th'  complete  story  told  therein,  but 
this,  also,  is  of  much  use  giving  rules  and  instructions  to 
aide  in  our  worke,  and  setti'g  forth  th'  arguments  of  many 
workes  such  as  playes,  poemes,  that  are  onely  the  early 
translated  workes,  mentioned  some  time  ago,  in  th'  bookes 
wee  published  in  divers  names. 

It  will  make  known  t'  posteritie  the  reall  cause, — as  one 
moving  in  scenes  that  are  thus  given  must  surely  under- 
sta'd  better  than  others, — of  that  strange  devotedness  that 
Queene  Elizabeth  manifested  when  my  Lord  of  Essex  ap- 
peared, (soon  pointing  to  a  much  scorned  sinne)  more, 
when  knowne  that  th'  newe  favorite  was  by  right  a  prince 


112  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

who  lov'd  power  more  then  ought  upon  earth.  Also,  led 
as  hee  then  was,  many  courtly  matters  or  great  affaires 
were  as  puppet's  gyrations  or  mad,  jesting  quips,  winning 
his  notice  little. 

Most  persons  in  my  lord's  liking,  but  least  honoured, 
who  served  honourably,  however,  in  the  forraine  fighting, 
will  perhaps  come  under  men's  censure  when  the  truth  is 
made  knowne;  whilst  most  of  our  Irish  troopes  found 
they  had  not  well  understood  th'  intentions  their  leader 
had  cloaked  in  his  owne  high  spirit  or  bold  will.  He  found 
simple  and  quite  easy  wayes  of  binding  men  to  th'  great 
treasonable  undertaking,  by  a  representation  which  con- 
tayn'd  but  a  modified  figure  of  truth.  Men  adventured 
fortunes  soe  unthinkingly,  that  ruine  of  their  hope  was 
ruine  against  which  nothing  availed. 

It  cannot  now  alter  th'  fates  of  anie,  high  or  lowe,  if 
the  matter  bee  giv'n  a  full  rendering  as  it  is  now  found 
herein;  but  our  great  struggles  in  the  interesse  of  Earle 
Robert,  have  many  most  indisputed  retumes  ev'n  as  the 
Holy  Scripture  saith:  "With  such  measure  as  ye  yourself e 
doe  mete  it  shall  be  ineted  to  you." 

But  other  Cyphe'  plays  co'taine  all  our  historic  so  truelie 
recorded,  our  whole  life  can  be  seene  spread  like  a  map, 
wherein  th'  winding  course  of  many  streames  are  limn'd 
forthe.  Longing  to  bee  no  more  held  unworthy,  ac- 
compted  unfaithful  of  those  whom  wee  honor'd,  and,  worst 
of  all  ill  that  doth  visit  mortall,  disregarded  of  posterity,  it 
doth  barre  us  from  houres  of  despayring  melancholic,  and 
bringeth  to  th'  minde  a  vision,  so  sweete  and  assuring,  that 
wee  have  found  a  great  solace  in  our  work  even  when  writ- 
ing th'  story  of  our  early  life,  or  writing  the  harrowi'g  ex&- 
cution  scene  of  that  deare  Earle  Robt.,  or  Prince  Robt.  as 


IN  NOVUM  ORGANUM.  118 

we  should  speake  the  name  of  that  brother, — since  'tis 
well  for  us  to  make  th'  horror  of  that  murther  as  familiar 
as  other  sensations. 

We  mention  this  part  of  th'  work  frequently,  because 
there  nowe  is  nothing  as  importante,  or  at  th'  least  as  much 
talked  of,  as  this  event  that  was  mildly  pass'd  over  at 
first,  least  our  royall  mother  should  worke  us  a  worse  ill. 
Wee  entreat  th'  decyphere  by  every  arte  of  speech  that 
wee  possesse  to  heede  our  request,  and  decypher  th'  play  of 
which  wee  speake  ere  the  pleasure  he  hath  felt  in  his  taske 
may  disappeare.  If  this  be  done  faithlesse  men  will  not 
jonge  have  th'  daring  to  throw  anie  question  of  doubt  upon 
our  conducte.  When  all  is  knowne  and  understoode,  there 
will  be  nothing  but  approvall,  where  there  was  once  harsh 
judgement. 

But  of  some  little  matters,  appertaining  rather  to  my- 
self e  then  others,  th'  decypherer  may  followe  his  owne 
wishes.  In  our  earliest  play,  is  the  happy  spirrit  of  a 
young  boy,  subdued  slightlie  by  our  future  into  whose 
gloomie  depths,  plunging,  wee  tasted  a  bitternesse  Such  as 
they  have  tasted  who  drinke  the  waters  of  Styx. 

When  our  owne  worke  hath  beene  compleated  there  will 
still  remaine  many  things  for  a  discipherer  to  doe  if  hee 
would  winne  reward.  When  our  time  shall  come  for  our 
farewell  to  earth  and  all  its  gifts  of  joy  or  paine,  our  work 
must  still  proceed  since  our  inve'tion  is  not  yet  discem'd. 
Our  hope,  however,  is  still  strong,  and  faileth  not,  that  ere 
long  our  story  shall  burst  its  cereme'ts  and  rise  to  make  the 
truth  known  of  all  men.  Then  must  our  name  bee  knowne 
farre  as  man's  foot  hath  trod,  and  that  which  hath  beene 
lost  in  th'  present,  may  be  recover'd  in  th'  future. 


114  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

A  man's  life  consisteth  not,  as  the  Holy  Scripture  saitli, 
of  eating  or  drinking  but  of  that  life  which  is  within  uss, 
perpetual  1  as  the  Creator  of  earth  and  the  heavens,  and  hee 
doth  not  cast  off  all  care  that  he  hath  caiTied  in  his  hart. 
He  leaveth  behind  him  some  kind  of  labour  and  that  taketh 
a  hold  upon  th'  future  making  ev'n  th'  life  on  this  earth  as 
enduring  as  the  globe  itselfe.  This  is  true  onely  as  th' 
labour  shall  bee  a  worthie  one,  that  may  well  endure,  for 
such  things  of  similar  proprietie  to  stubble,  doth  burn  as 
hay  and  st'aw,  and  disappears 

There  is  vanity  and  some  pride  i'  th'  noblest  humane 
heart,  which  drive  his  steps  on  in  th'  path  he  doth  pursue, 
and  'tis  but  nature.  As  when  sunnelight  maketh  th'  plant 
growe  up  war',  so  this  light  of  nature  driveth  our  shoots  out 
in  profuse,  farre-reaching  vines.  His  fruit  may  not  ripen 
in  his  daye,  and  the  taste  may  prove  its  quality  unsavorie 
when  it  shall  be  brought  into  th'  bins,  but  his  owne  it  is, 
and  it  could  afford  none  other  ought  of  blame  or  prayse. 

When  you  have  fully  decypher'd  this,  you  will  not  at 
once  see  our  nexte  worke,  since  'tis  publisht  to  co'ceale 
matters  of  a  private  nature.  You  will  find  therein  more 
of  our  Word-Cipher.  This  to  which  you  give  th'  greater 
part  of  your  time,  if  you  foUowe  th'  directions  wee  have 
hitherto  imparted,  is  also  emploied  in  it,  having  beene 
given  to  convey  instruction  concerni'g  our  tra'slations.  It 
will  co'taine  large  portions  of  all  hidden  epistles,  for  it  is 
our  bin  or  th'  granary  into  which  the  various  kinds  and 
sortes  gather'd  are  put  awaiting  the  hands  of  th'  sower, 
who,  as  you  knowe,  is  our  owne  well  beloved  discypherer. 
Th'  worke  beareth  the  title  of  th'  Anatomy  of  Melancholy 
and  will  bee  put  forth  by  Burton. 


IN  NOVUM  ORGANUM.  115 

"With  this  are  many  of  those  Shakespeare  plays  wee  will 
f'oone  bring  forth,  for  our  work  cannot  be  carried  to  com- 
pletion without  them.  As  wee  have  said  many  times,  our 
bookes  contains  these  twoo  Cyphers,  soe  when  our  discy- 
pherer  doth  see  anie  works  of  ours,  he  knoweth  at  the  first 
cursory  glance,  it  doth  speak  to  him  verie  forc'bly  and 
make  a  plea  for  aide,  that  a  prisoner  may  bee  set  free. 
It  shall  well  repaye  his  time,  and  his  hart  shall  rejoice  in 
th'  rich  treasure  that  shall  come  to  gladen  and  fill  his 
thoughts. 

The  matter  is  not  at  all  times  joyous  but  it  is  truth,  in 
which  men  are  counselled  always  to  rejoyce.  In  our 
plaies,  just  spoken  of  as  being  in  the  name  of  a  man  not 
living,  there  is  still  more  of  this  secret  historic.  By  fol- 
lowi'g  our  good  friend's  advice  we  have  not  lost  that  maske 
tho'  our  Shakespeare  noe  longer  liveth,  since  twoo  others, 
fellowes  of  our  play  actor, — who  would,  we  doubt  not, 
publish  those  playes, — would  disguise  our  work  as  well. 
This  wil  not,  however,  bee  done  untill  a  most  auspicious 
lime. 

Much  work  must  be  accomplished  in  a  short  time  if 
manie  new  plays  should  bee  added  which  doth  now  seeme 
^  desirable,  inasmuch  as  it  suiteth  us  farre  better  then  prose 
or  a  lighter  verse,  whilst  it  giveth  more  satisfaction  to  our 
readers.  Represented  on  our  stage  they  give  more  pleas- 
ure still,  and  yield  their  author  much  more,  be  it  in  gold, 
or  in  honour,  since  th'  theater  is  becoming  more  popular. 

Our  plaies  are  of  diverse  kindes,  historic,  comedie  and 
tragedie.  Many  are  upon  th'  stage,  but  those  already  put 
forth  in  Wm.  Shakespeare's  name,  we  doe  nothing  doubt, 
have  won  a  lasting  fame,— <;omedy,  th'  historick  drama 
and  tragedy,  are  alike  in  favour.    For  this  reason  wee  have 


116  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

resolv'd  to  write  in  these  formes,  tho'  tragcedie  doth  come 
to  th'  sensiblest  mindes  mo'  easily,  because  to  such,  high 
and  tragieall  things  are  more  suited  then  those  that  are 
onely  somewhat  reall,  yet  much  too  nice  and  daintie,  or 
too  crude,  vile  and  unfit. 

As  for  historicall  drama,  some  principall  and  important 
facts  require  gracing  vnth.  such  elegancies  as  wee  see  many 
doe  admire  and  praise.  'Tis  th'  changing  and  shifting 
movement  that  doth  catch  the  eye,  and  please  the  imagina- 
tion, and  plays  of  all  kinds  seeme  manie  times  to  give  de- 
light in  th'  action,  which  have  lesse  attracted  us  in  our 
study.  Candidly  speaking,  it  is  better  to  consult  men's 
liking  then  their  judgements,  but  writing  truthfully,  there 
shall  be  no  sacrifice  here  to  hurt  the  sense  or  lose  sight  of 
the  ayme.  Wrongs  are  expos'd,  be  they  ours  or  others,  and 
ofte  of  unpleasantly  plaine  character.  We  stood  close  at 
hand  and  saw  thinges  with  cleare  eie  to  write  them  in  this 
record,  having  desir'd  with  exceedi'g  desire  of  the  heart  to 
be  giv'n  a  righteous  judgment  in  matters  of  most  import 
and  interest  t'  ourselfe,  yet  of  worth,  finally,  to  others, 
inasmuch  as  there  would  bee  without  [it]  noe  true  historic 
left  to  other  times. 

This  shall  bee  th' great  work  of  this  age.  Its  fame*  shall  ' 
spread  abroad  to  farthest  lands  beyonde  th'  sea  and  as  th' 
name  of  Fr.  Bacon  shall  bee  spoken,  that  of  his  disci- 
pherer,  joined  with  his  owne,  must  receive  equall  honour, 
too,  when  this  invention  doth  receive  reward.  Hee  it  is, 
our  fellowe,  who  hath  kepte  at  work  despight  manie  a 
temptation  to  give  waie,  as  some  doe. 

With  propheticke  vision  our  eyes,  looking  into  th' 
future,  see  th'  day  that  give'  these  Cypher  histories  life 
and  light.     Glad  must  th'  day  be  to  all  that  helde  our 


IN  NOVUM  ORGANUM.  117 

story  in  closed  bosomes  that  no  harme  should  befall  us. 
Love,  waki'g  in  fear,  shall  rejoice  with  untold  joy.  It  is 
a  simple  historie  wee  must  owne,  yet  'tis  soe  closelie  inter- 
woven with  many  more  knowne  and  renowned  it  shineth 
with  reflex  honour. 

Let  him  not  grow  weary  nor  leave  following  our  queast 
if  he  would  recover  his  rightes  of  reward.  It  needeth  not 
that  our  eies  look  on  this  worke  in  order  that  it  should 
come  forth  in  the  forme  soe  desired,  nor  that  our  hand 
pointe  out  each  step  his  feete  must  tread,  for  the  divers 
rules  and  directions  leade  him  so  that  he  shall  not  falt'r. 

It  may  bee  well  now  as  we  approach  the  end,  to  give 
summaries  of  th'  numerous  workes  which  he  will  find  in 
Cypher, — and  the  methodes  wee  have  us'd, — of  the  plays 
we  have  not  long  since  spoken  in  this  place  as  thirteene  in 
number, — ^five  of  which  are  nam'd  as  histories,  five  as  his- 
toricall  tragoedies,  three  as  comedies.  Of  all  these,  in  one 
work  or  another^  keies  and  arguments  may  bee  found  to 
aide  the  discypherer.  Th'  former  are  his  indispensable 
guides,  the  latter  ayde  him  greatly  to  re-build  these 
broken,  scattered  pallaces. 

Th'  histories  are  not  completed,  at  this  writiag,  in  their 
exteriour  masque.  Comming  latelie  .  into  newe  honours 
and  newe  duties  wee  have,  as  may  be  suppos'd,  written 
much  lesse  then  formerly.  AH  interiour  worke,  neverthe- 
lesse,  is  completed,  and  made  ready  for  th'  incorporation 
into  these  divers  works. 

Th'  titles  of  these  plaies  here  followe:  The  Life  of  Eliz- 
abeth; The  Life  of  Essex:  The  Life  and  Death  of  Edward 
Third;  The  White  Rosse  of  Brittaine;  Th'  Life  of  King 
Henrie  the  Sevent;  The  Earle  of  Essex  (my  late  brother); 
Earle  of  Leicester  (our  late  sire);  The  Life  of  Marlowe; 


118  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Anne  BuUen;  Mary  Queene  o'  Scots;  Th'  Seven  Wise 
Men  of  the  West;  Solomon  the  Second;  and  The  Mouse 
Trap.  Besides  the  playes,  three  noteworthie  translations 
are  found  in  our  workes,  viz,  Th'  Iliad  and  Odyssey  of 
Homer,  and  the  ^neid  of  Virgil,  togather  with  a  number 
of  lesser  workes  of  this  sort,  and  a  few  short  poemes. 
There  is  also  the  story,  in  verse,  of  th'  Spanish  Armada, 
and  th'  story  of  my  owne  life.  The  last  nam'd  co'taineth 
the  wooeing  of  our  owne  dear  love, — this  Marguerite  of 
these  hidden  love  poemes, — and  the  story  of  our  misfor- 
tune in  France,  the  memory  o'  which  yet  lingers. 

Wee  have  sometime  found  our  other  inventions  of  some 
worth,  in  our  worke,  and  we  have  spente  occasionall  idole 
minutes  making  such  maskes  serve  instead  of  the  two 
Cyphers  so  much  us'd,  for  of  soe  many  good  methodes  of 
speaking  to  the  readers  of  our  workes,  wee  must  quite  nat- 
urally have  a  preference,  and  wee  owne  that  the  Word- 
Cypher  seemeth  to.  us  superiour  to  all  -others  wee  have  in- 
vented. We  have,  however,  devis'd  six  which  wee  have 
us'd  in  a  few  of  our  bookes.  These  are  the  Bi-literall; 
Wordd;  Capital  Letter;  Time,  or  as  more  oft  call'd  Clocke; 
Symboll;  and  Anagrammaticke.  The  first,  surely,  needeth 
noe  explanation  if  our  inve'tion  have  beene  found  out; 
[it]  demandeth  fuller  instructions,  if  it  be  still  unseene; 
a  most  cleare  playne  ensample  shall  make  it  stande  forth 
soe  that  hee  who  but  runneth  b}'  shall  reade.  It  doth  re- 
quire some  fine  worke  of  the  tooles  as  well  as  of  th'  minde. 

Next  the  great  Cipher  spoken  of  soe  frequentlie, — 
tearm'd  th'  most  importante  invention,  since  'tis  of  farre 
greater  seethe, — shall  heere  bee  againe  explained.  More 
rules  and  instructions  are  necessarie  then  were  needed  in 


IN  NOVUM  ORGANUM.  119 

any  of  the  others,  but  in  the  first  work,  only  such  as  will 
be  readilie  seene  neede  be  sought.     These  now  followe: 

Keyes  are  used  to  pointe  out  the  portions  to  be  used  in 
this  worke.  These  keies  are  words  imploied  in  a  naturall 
and  common  waye,  but  are  mark'd  by  capitalls,  the  paren- 
these,  or  by  frequent  and  unnecessarie  iteration;  yet  all 
these  are  given  in  the  other  Cypheres  also  making  the  de- 
cipher's part  lesse  difficile. 

Xext  assort  carefully  all  th'  matter  thus  obtained  and 
place  it  in  boxes  and  drawers  for  timely  use.  There  will, 
with  a  little  observation,  bee  discern'd  wordes  which  are 
repeatedly  used  in  the  same  connection.  These  must  bee 
noted  specially  since  they  form  our  series  of  combining  or 
jojTiing  wordes,  which  like  the  marks  th'  builder  putteth 
on  the  prepar'd  blockes  of  stone  shemng  the  place  of  each 
in  the  finisht  building,  pointe  out  with  unmistakable  dis- 
tinctnes  its  relation  to  all  other  parts.  This  will  shewe  the 
necessitie  of  keeping  everything  ready  and  orderly. 

As  whilst  writing  these  interior  works  these  keies  and 
joining  words  did  deter  th'  advancement,  it  shall  work  a 
contrarie  effecte  on  this  part  of  th'  designe,  and  th'  part  of 
our  ready  decypherer  is  made  easie  for  his  hand,  but  his 
sight  shal  accordinglie  have  neede  to  bee  as  th'  sight  of 
th'  keene-ey'd  eagle,  if  hee  would  hunt  this  out,  losing 
nothing. 

A  part  of  our  life  relating  and  linking  itselfe  to  another 
in  a  marked  degree,  as  no  doubt  you  know,  required  more 
time  and  studie  then  all  the  rest.  l^ot  onely  was  our 
Queene-mother  concern'd,  whose  life  we  have  dulie  set 
forth  in  th'  dramas  mention'd,  but  one  dearer,  and  as  our 
memorie  doth  painte  her,  fairer  still  then  the  fairest  of  our 


120  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

English  maydens,  sweet  traitresse  tho'  we  should  tearme 
her,  Marguerite — our  pearle  of  women. 

In  order  to  indicate  clearly  the  parts  belonging  to  our 
early  love  story,  wee  emploi'd  words  to  set  off  these  por- 
tions, using  those  wee  have  spoken  of  in  a  number  of 
Ciphers,  such  familiar  and  comon  termes  as  th'  mind  and 
every  faculty  or  power,  memorie,  reason  and-so-forth,  also 
heart  with  its  affections, — as  wee  tearme  th'  emotions  or 
passions  slightly  understood, — th'  spirit  and  soule.  These 
accompanying  a  key-word  shewe  that  this  portion  belong- 
eth  to  the  part  of  my  history  I  have  just  mentioned  in  this 
waye.  Th'  same  keies  were  employed  and  yet  th'  decy- 
pherer  shal  finde  his  guides  thus  indicated  so  easily,  it 
would  truely  be  difficile,  as  it  doth  appeare,  to  goe  astray. 

For  other  workes  our  joyning-words  are  cleare,  or  those 
arguments  so  fully  given,  th'  discyphering  is  onely  a  mat- 
ter of  time  and  patience,  but  this  would  surely  not  be 
wanting  in  the  man  who  hath  worked  out  the  Bi-literall 
Cipher  that  doth  require  soe  much. 

In  many  places  will  there  bee  found  instruction  for  the 
discypherer  and  in  divers  waies,  so  that,  fayling  one,  he 
should  see  others,  as  hath  noe  doubt  beene  discov'r'd  since 
this  Bi-literall  Cypher  hath  made  everything  cleare,  shew- 
ing the  workes  that  joyne,  and  giving  ayde  as  often  as  it 
may  bee  requir'd.  The  designe,  however,  being  so  com- 
pleat  it  should  seeme  a  thing  that  men  of  keene  eyes  and 
quick  minde  may  discover  readily  and  pursue  with  ease. 

Of  my  devices  nothing  excells  that  of  th'  employment 
of  words  in  common  use  to  direct  our  decypherer.  Tables 
should  contayne  all  such  because  no  man's  memorie  can 
long  retayne  such  a  number  of  words;  but  all  will  clearlie 
see  how  great'  an  advantage  it  must  bee  to  bee  able  to 


IN  NOVUM  ORGANUM.  •        121 

masque  all  our  divers  pen  names  in  common  tearmes,  so 
uaturallie,  that  not  a  man  of  common  intelligence  will  sus- 
pect the  presence  of  anything  of  a  secret  nature. 

The  preparation  and  distribution  of  th'  Cypher  wordes 
requir'd  much  time  and  this  time  was  soon  at  my  disposi- 
tion. Th'  numerous  works  that  will  be  sent  forth,  soone, 
will  prove  the  truth  of  my  assertion  of  a  ceaselesse  indus- 
try and  an  unflagginge  zeale.  No  one  living  in  the  midst 
o'  th'  tumults  and  distractions  which  are  found  in  our  great 
townes  could  (could)  better  hold  to  a  purpose, — but  a  few 
years  younger,  in  truth,  then  I, — for  it  stirred  within  me 
when  I  first  was  told  of  my  great  birth,  and  tooke  forme 
shortly  after  that  scene  at  th'  Court  of  our  mother  which 
led  soe  quickly  to  my  be'ng  sent  to  France  in  th'  company 
and  care  of  Sir  Amy  as  Paulet.  It  waighed  on  me  con- 
sta'tly,  untill  I  devis'd  a  waye  by  which  I  could  communi- 
cate this  strange  thing  to  th'  world,  as  you  know,  and  my 
restlesse  minde  unsatisfied  with  one  or  two  good  Cyphers, 
continually  made  triall  of  new  contrivances,  in  order  to 
write  the  true  story  fully,  that  wrongs  of  this  age  bee  made 
right  in  another. 

As  my  work  hath  beene,  from  my  earlie  youth  untill  of 
late,  one  of  unfiagging  intereste,  I  have  made  great  pro- 
gresse  in  Cipher-writing,  finding  it  pleasing  at  first, — ^I 
may  say  manie  times  mildlie  exciting.  But  one  must 
wearie  of  th'  one  now  in  employment  on  accompt  o'  th' 
unchangeablenesse  of  the  worke,  for  variety  is  almost  im- 
possibr  to  this  kinde  of  Cyphar,  and  nothing  availeth  to 
applie  witty  invention  in  this  waye,  if  it  bee  not  clearly 
shewn,  for  without  helpe  th'  most  constant  of  discypherers 
must  finde  many  shifts  weariesome,  as  it  must  require  more 
attention,  and  therefore  some  of  my  labour  may  be  hidden 
inost  compleatly  from  every  eye. 


122         ,  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Whilst  it  is  th'  object  of  such  work,  in  its  nature  and 
use,  none  could  suppose  I  desir'd  this  to  be  soe  conceal'd 
that  no  future  discypherer  may  lift  the  vayle  from  my 
secret.  If  that  should  occur,  numerous  devices  which 
have  grown  in  many  directions,  this  waie  and  that, — but 
secretlie,  and  like  a  root  turning  in  th'  soyle  as  it  extend- 
eth, — ^have  a  grave  in  my  work  where  I  thought  onlie  of 
giving  hiding  for  a  little.  Life  is  too  precious,  its  dayes 
too  fleeting,  to  be  so  used  if  noe  time  should  ever  come  to 
roll  away  from  th'  door  of  th'  sepulcher  this  great  stone. 

It  is  not  easie  to  reveal  secrets  at  th'  same  time  that  a 
wall  to  guard  them  is  built,  but  this  hath  beene  attempted, 
hoAV  successfuU  it  shal  be,  I  know  not,  for  tho'  wel  con- 
trived so  no  one  has  found  it,  the  cleere  assurance  cometh 
on^ly  in  th'  dreemes  and  visions  of  th'  night,  of  a  time 
when  the  secret  shall  bee  fully  reveal'd.  That  it  shall  not 
be  now,  and  that  it  shall  be  then — that  it  shall  be  kept 
from  all  eyes  in  my  owne  time,  to  bee  seene  at  some  future 
daye,  however  distante — is  my  care,  my  studie. 

With  manie  things  in  hand,  now,  I  devote  somewhat  less 
of  my  time  to  Cyphers,  and  had  I  not  in  th'  Cypher,  giy'n 
my  good  assistant  promise  of  many  little  things  to  aide 
liim,  this  should  not  continue.  Since  the  part  which  doth 
containe  the  storie  of  my  birth  is  one  I  cannot  have  lost, 
it  is  frequently  giv'n. 

Th'  directions  to  th'  decipherer  oft  occur,  for  it  cannot 
bee  that  hee  doth  decypher  everything  I  write,  yet  if  but  a 
part  be  done,  it  would  bee  sufficient,  doubtlesse,  to  reveale 
th'  history;  but  I  must  strive  to  soe  double  th'  rules  as  I 
write,  that  no  failure  shall  bee  possible.  At  the  first,  as- 
sur'd  that  th'  interesse  doth  increase  each  houre,  change  to 
matter  lesse  personall,  led  would-be  delvers  o'  hidden  secret 
matter,  to  followe  noe  longer. 


IN  NOVUM  ORGANUM.  -  123 

Xo  doubt  my  Avanderings  much  resemble  the  chatter  a 
senseless  creature  of  Caliban's  temper  and  nature  might 
give  out  if  hee  were  to  speak  in  a  secret  manner,  but  such 
is  my  designe.  And  it  hath  so  well  preserv'd  my  historie 
for  many  yeares  fro'  th'  sight  of  inquiri'g  eyes,  that  it 
seemeth  at  last  necessarie, — and  but  little  danger  doth  lurk 
in  th'  revelation, — to  put  forth  a  full  treatise  on  my  wor- 
thie  Cyphars  to  shew  that  to  use  all  ordinarie  methods  of 
giving  one's  message  to  th'  world  suficeth  not,  if  one  wish 
to  pick  out  and  choose  his  owne  readers. 

Therefore  there  is  soone  to  bee  a  little  work  which  shall 
set  cleerlie  forth  these  artes  that  have  held  many,  many  a 
secret  from  my  times  to  carry  it  on  [to]  th'  great  future. 
If  there  bee  none  to  decipher  it  at  length,  how  many  weary 
days  will  have  beene  lost;  yet — such  is  the  constancy  of 
hope  in  our  brests — ^we  hold  to  th'  work  without  rest,, 
firmly  trusti'g  that  coming  times  and  th'  future  men  of 
our  owne,  and  other  lands,  shall  at  last  rewarde  these: 
labours  as  they  soe  manifestly  shall  deserve. 

Though  it  shal  not  happen  in  mine  owne  day,  this  assur- 
ance that  it  cannot  fail  to  come  forth  in  due  time,  maketh 
weary  labour  lesse  tiresome.  It  is  noe  doubt  long  to  wait,, 
but  whatever  should  have  beene  ordain'd  by  that  Supreme 
Govemour  of  our  lives  doth  give  such  a  satisfaction,  it 
doth  fully  sustaine  and  succour  th'  heart,  so  that  it  sur- 
mounteth  all  fears.  If  some  call  it  vanitie,  I  must  make  th' 
wise  man,  his  timely  replie,  for  all  things  upon  earth  are 
truelie  vanitie,  and  the  spirit  thereby  is  vext. 

What  remaineth  to  man  at  th'  last  of  all  this  labour  and 
care?  Ought?  Shall  he  leave  the  dearest  labours,  th' 
great  designes,  th'  marvayles  that  he  hath  wrought,  and 
beare  from  hence  to  that  new  life  a  memory  onely,  or,  it 


184  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

may  be,  even  lesse?  Must  hee  loose  his  hold  upon  all 
earthlie  objects  to  take  hold  on  that  that  is  eternal?  Must 
hee  part  from  all  and  leave  all?  Ay;  and  yet,  if  his  arts 
survive  'tis  wel  as  hee  can  naturallie  wish. 

If  hee  may  have  knowledge,  when  th'  last  long  night  of 
death  oppresseth  him,  seeling  the  eyes  and  shutting  from 
him  the  blessed  light  of  day,  that  the  things  that  he  loved 
died  not  also,  it  wil  not  bee  utter  losse,  utter  oblivyon. 
Shall  not  his  soule  live  after  him?  Surely;  nor  can  you 
or  I  have  that  farre  sight  that  looketh  into  the  future,  and 
we  knowe  that  by  the  Divine  wisdome  of  the  Ruler  Su- 
preme, 'tis  soe  ordain'd.  But  one  thing  may  serve  well 
when  we  take  departure,  and  that  is,  to  leave  many  and 
widelie  varied  work';  it  could  not  bee  that  nought  could 
bee  .sav'd  from  a  vast  quantitie,  and  ought  th'  hand  can 
produce  shall  have  a  greater  worth  at  such  a  distant  daie. 

With  many  a  wish  in  my  minde  for  honours,  successe, 
approvall,  I  put  these  things  away,  as  th'  Saviour  put  Satan 
behind  him,  and  do  not  for  a  moment  alter  my  fixt  deter- 
mination to  make  good  this  time,  and  this  labour,  at  some 
future  day.  But  of  this  I  have  spoken  so  many  times 
already,  I  fear  that  my  patient,  but  not  super-humane  as- 
sistant may  have  become  awearie,  and  have  giv'n  over  th' 
pursuite  of  this  strangely  hidd'n  story. 

It  might  surely  bee  lesse  tiresome  to  him  if  my  story 
might  be  made  cleare  in  a  single  worke,  but  there  would 
have  bin  such  danger,  in  soe  writing  out  my  secret,  it 
would  but  bee  well  commenced  before  it  would  work  my 
mine.  For  the  good  of  all  these  companions  who  have 
foUow'd  my  fortunes  in  th'  shifting,  changing  scenes  at 
th'  Court,  and  elsewhere,  as  well  as  for  my  advantage,  I 
strive  to  continue  th'  history;  yet  duties  of  office  do  rarelie 


IN  NOVUM  ORGANUM.  125 

permit  me  to  doe  much  with  this  work,  which  will  ac- 
compte  for  a  few  of  th'  mistakes  that  have  occurr'd. 

But,  truth  to  say,  severall  of  the  plays  that  I  am  about 
to  put  forth  are  yet  incomplete,  and  I  am,  too,  much  occu- 
pied with  a  work  on  the  life  of  my  m'temall  great  grande- 
father,  which  doth  include  most  of  my  Cypher  plaie.  The 
White  Rose  of  Brittaine.  Many  earlier  plaies  are  to  bee 
somewhat  alter'd  in  order  to  have  some  portiones  of  my 
historic  put  into  th'  Cypher.  'Tis  of  th'  great  key-word 
Cyphar  of  which  I  am  speaking,  chiefe  of  these  inve'tions, 
for  by  th'  use  of  it,  I  may  make  a  work  of  beautie,  as  you 
know,  while  some  of  these  being  of  such  [nature]  that 
they  are  not  easily  kept  in  minde  are  easily  overlookt  like 
the  way  of  ships  on  the  ocean. 

But  by  no  other  then  this,  which  I  hope  you  are  at  pres- 
ent following,  doth  anie  epistle  continue  in  our  worke 
without  change.  If  I  wish  to  make  such  a  triall  of  my 
work  as  must  occasio'ally  be  done,  you  can  doubtleese 
understand  it  requireth  onely  a  few  dayes  to  make  th'  ex- 
periment. With  a  little  time  and  patience,  therefore,  I 
can  easily  finde  what  th'  epistle  is. 

In  many  I  have  plact  rules  and  instructions  but  in  some 
parts  I  have  written  th'  thoughts  haunting  my  hour  of 
rest.  If  th'  decyphercr  is  to  finde  out  th'  rules,  each  part 
must  convey  to  him  a  seeret  message.  If  it  shall  not  be 
found  in  every  part.  I  could  have  little  assurance  of  any  of 
mj  epistles  coming  forth,  since  no  one  might  accidentally 
come  upon  widely  scatter'd  fragments. 

Bi-literall  Cypher  is  unlike  others  in  respect  to  this,  for 
while  it  doth  change  the  subjectes  more  frequently  than 
anie  other,  its  course  is  continuous.  If  my  owne  storie 
be  written  out  fullv  and  all  rules  and  instructions  for  a 


126  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

decyph'rer  in  th'  other  inventions  be  made  out,  it  may  then 
be  left  til  snch  other  decyphering  shall  have  beene  finished 
as  hath  beene  most  frequently  mentioned,  taking  care  in 
no  case,  or  for  noe  reaso'  of  lesse  value,  in  fact  then  mat- 
ters of  prime  importance,  [to]  let  anything  distract  your 
minde. 

And  if  since  making  the  discoverie  of  this  that  is  here 
used  there  have  beene  found  many  an  exhortatio'  fervent- 
lie  beseeching  you  to  continue  your  labours,  consider  these 
doubled.  I,  [ay]  let  this  great  number  bee  so  increast 
that  it  cannot  bee  forgotten,  that  th'  cheefe  of  all  my  in- 
ventions is  the  key-word  Cypher.  Therefore  I  wish  to 
have  it  given  first,  and  most,  of  your  time  after  this  worke 
shall  have  come  to  an  end. 

Whilst  it  is  true  regarding  that  Cypher  of  which  I  speak, 
much  must  yet  be  written,  and  that  none  can  learn  how  to 
decypher  it  till  full  instructio's  may  bee  found, — I  am  giv- 
ing great  attention  to  th'  completion  of  severall  plays  that 
containe  all  th'  instructio's, — time  will  not  permit  the 
great  catalogue  to  swell  to  much  greater  proportio's;  but 
'tis  trulie  colossall  already,  and  doth  approove  my  tirelesse 
spirit.  The  work  hath  occupied  so  much  time,  it  is  more 
as  a  habit  than  a  matter  of  free  choice — but  for  other 
good  and  well  set  forth  purposes — this  work  hath  soe  con- 
tinued. 

Also  new  devices  were  to  have  beene  made  plain,  but 
the  complete  illustration  of  these  artes  sh'll  be  found  in 
some  later  work,  for  it  hath  given  me  no  little  ple'sure  in 
the  imploiment  of  these  contrivances,  knowi'g  so  much  of 
th'  Cypher  would  no  doubt  be  a  sealed  booke,  even  to  the 
decypherer  of  the  first  partes.  And  no  decypherer  will 
make  of  this  a  cause  o'  complainte,  for  it  affordeth  to  him 


IN  NOVUM  ORGANUM.  127 

a  newe  mysterie  and  the  minde  of  man  ever  doth  rejoice 
most  in  that  forme  of  search  that  hath  a  relish  of  the  chase 
therein.  Therefore,  whilst  I  am  still  in  very  good  hope 
that  my  last  contrivance  is  not  solv'd,  noe  feeling  of  anie 
sort,  save  kindlinesse,  is  in  my  soule  toward  my  decy- 
pherer. 

If  he  discov'r  the  key  of  my  newe  invention,  himself e, 
before  it  bee  explain'd,  it  shall  redound  to  his  credit.  Much 
as  hath  beene  the  case  in  all  discoveries  worthy  of  note 
since  man's  creation,  this  may  furnish  him  soe  much  de- 
lighte,  whilst  it  doth  occupie  his  minde,  that  time  shall 
seeme  short.  In  my  History  of  Henry  Seventh  this  shall 
all  bee  explain'd. 

But  as  I  doe  not  accompte  th'  time  wasted  which  one 
may  soe  imploy,  soe  difl&cult  is  my  taske  of  publishing  my 
plays  under  th'  name  of  one  who  hath  departed, — mania 
being  out  already,  but  an  almost  equall  number  new, — that 
much  of  my  thought  in  leasure  hom^ee  is  upon  the  questio' 
how  it  may  bee  done.  For  the  purposes  of  the  Cypher  it 
is  requir'd  that  no  alteratio'  be  made,  for  that  manner  that 
I  have  adopted  shewing  different  workes  by  common  words 
must  not  suffer  unnecessarie  change.  The  discipherer  will 
doubtlesse  need  all  the  assistance  which  can  thus  be 
giv'n  nor  could  I  now  so  alter  the  new,  without  making  a 
correspo'sive  change  in  that  now  in  print, — a  thing  soe 
nearly  impossible  as  to  be  out  of  all  questio'. 

Taking  carefull  thought  of  these  conditions,  I  have 
made  choyce  already  of  meanes  to  give  great  ayde  to  a  dis- 
cypherer,  while  no  doubte  of  the  matter  or  motive  is  prob- 
able. To  make  use  still  of  many  masking  names  at  th' 
same  time,  without  some  way  of  instructing  my  discy- 
pherer,  might  resulte  in  the  losse  of  more  labour  at  length 


128  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

then  I  have  yet  expended.  It  openeth  a  new  invention  in 
a  place  well  occupied,  as  shall  be  seen,  with  one  little 
pe'ceyv'd. 

It  cannot  bee  that  bread  which  is  cast  on  waters  taketh 
othe'  then  a  cours'  that  is  intended.  How  might  it  then 
give  promise  that  shall  requite  all  who  soe  obey  th'  holy 
teaching  found  in  God's  sacred  Word?  "Caste  thy  bread," 
thus  it  saith,  "upon  those  surges."  Ay,  soe  must  ye  doe, 
if  yee  would  have  it  back  once  more  when  many  dayes  and 
moneths,  I,  [ay]  and  long,  long  yeeres  are  swept  into  the 
abyss  of  eternity. 

Without  one  question,  then,  my  owne  hand  must  send 
foorth  upon  the  wast  of  waters,  fruit  and  flourishing 
boughes  from  fruit-bearing  garden  es,  that  one  finding  so 
rich  and  abundant  harvest,  may  trace  them  backewards  as 
hath  already  beene  mention'd,  to  this  garden  of  mine 
wherein  all  haye  come  to  perfection  of  rondnes. 

'Tis  my  Cypher  that  is  now  my  constant  and  more  im- 
portant labour  yet  'tis  so  much  to  the  banishment  of  care 
it  might  well  bee  thought  lesse  for  one's  personall  busi- 
nesse,  then  as  th'  unbending  spirit  to  these  amusements, 
as  it  must  bee  knowne  to  my  decypherer  such  a  thought 
doth  sort  with  my  wishes  and  in  this  fortunate  misunder- 
sta'di'g  doe  I  owe  the  safetie  of  my  work. 

It  is  not  so  difficile  to  keep  a  secret  while  it  shall  bee 
unsuspected  because  none  turneth  over  so  much,  bookes 
that  seeme  to  have  but  a  simple  and  single  method  of  im- 
parting his  thoughtes,  or  th'  results  of  his  experiments ;  but 
if  once  the  booke  hath  an  ayre  of  mystery,  noe  secret  can 
bee  secure  and  safe  in  such  keeping. 

I  thought  not,  however,  to  make  a  device  so  compleate 
as  my  most  worthy  Bi-literall  has  now  proven,  and  its  com- 
pletenesse  may  make  it  very  difficult  to  shew  forth  this 


IN  NOVUM  ORGANUM.  129 

designe  clearlie,  yet  at  the  same  time  guard  the  treasure 
that  it  keepes.  It  certajnly  requireth  as  much  wit  as  th' 
first  inventio',  though  much  lesse  pleasure  cometh  therein. 

It  is  so  much  in  my  minde  that  I  speak  thus  oft  about  it, 
and  take  my  decypherer  into  confidence,  as  it  were,  which 
doth  shewe  one  of  those  strange  weakenesses  of  soules  in- 
drawn, like  mine,  since  it  needeth  noe  proofe  of  the  fact 
that  a  demonstration  would  be  wholly  unnecessary  if  there 
were  anie  man  living  in  the  world  who  could  understand 
these  things  here  hidden;  but  I  speake  or  write  as  if  the 
discypherer  sat  at  my  side  to  take  part  when  requir'd  in  th' 
deliberatio's.  Many  times  I  have  a  sense  of  my  kinde  com- 
panion's presence,  yet  at  the  bottome  of  every  other  desire, 
is  a  hope  that  this  Cypher  shall  not  have  beene  scene  or 
read  when  my  summons  shall  come.  Therefore  tranquil- 
lity is  an  impossible  state,  and  I  am  torn  betwixt  feare  that 
it  bee  too  well  hid,  and  a  desire  to  see  all  my  devices  for 
transmitting  this  wondrous  history,  preserv'd  and  be- 
que'th'd  to  a  future  generatio',  undiscov'r'd. 

The  wish  that  none  of  my  day  may  discover  the  Cypher 
soe  happily  occupieth  my  owne  thought,  there  is  time  for 
hope  to  try  her  wing  in  that  uppe'  aire  above  th'  skies, 
where  it  is  so  clear  and  still  th'  evills  of  life  are  forgotten, 
feare,  for  a  time,  conquer'd  and  co'fin'd.  "Will  my  part 
in  the  task  be  anie  the  lesse  a  great  benefite  to  mankind, 
or  a  worthy  monument  to  my  own  name,  because  secret? 
'Tis  the  king, — or  prince  if  the  stile  do  better  please  some 
who  are  of  co'viction  that  an  uncrown'd  soveraigne  hath 
no  right  to  such  a  distinction, — that  speaketh,  and  it  is 
true  history  that  Avill  be  herein  related. 

In  th'  Parasceve  that  followeth,  a  number  of  short  tales 
of  th'  life  in  our  royall  parent's  reigne  must  be  sought. 


130  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

These  have  never  yet  beeiie  put  where  th'  discypherer's 
arte  would  be  of  use,  but  royall  power  giveth  a  luster  to 
these  quaint  tales.  Do  not,  pray,  relinquish  your  work  to 
deeypher  others  wherein  fairer  labour  doth  seeme  to  lie. 
There  are  seasons  for  all  to  be  brought  foorth,  as  you  shall 
observe.  Crowd  nothi'g  further  when  the  discovery  is 
fully  completed,  I  beg,  till  this  and  th'  two  other  Cyphers 
of  which  I  have  spoken  most,  have  come  to  sight. 

There  may  be  a  part  of  my  tale  concerning  a  Newe 
Atlantis  printed, — a  part  onelie  being  used  in  the  other 
Cypher.  It  hath  as  yet  bin  in  question,  as  I  may  say, 
there  having  bin  some  plans  in  my  minde  which  have 
beene,  as  we  say,  discuss'd  throughly  with  deliberation, 
weighing  all  thepra'a^and  manie  coti' 5,  to  make  it  cleare 
to  myselfe  what  vnll  be  th'  result.  Will  th'  discypherer 
be  thereby  really  ayded  and  made  joyfull  in  a  work 
alreadie  prepar'd  for  one  folowing,  from  whom  must  be 
requir'd  more  dutious,  obedient,  co'sta'cy  of  devotion  of 
all  his  powers  then  might  naturallie  bee  expected?  This 
must  ever  continue  unto  my  minde  an  open  question,  hap- 
pily or  otherwise,  yet  nightly  is  it  allowed  a  triall. 

But  there  must  come  lesse  interessed  judges  to  court. 
Men  cannot  sit  in  judgement,  to  passe  sentence,  who  wish 
to  adventure  their  fortunes  both  as  plaintiffs,  and  on 
defense;  all  are  too  much  given  to  that  self-love  borne  in 
the  hearts  of  weake  mortalls.  There  can  bee  no  correct 
^  opinions  given,  if  the  judgement  bee  warpt  or  twisted,  but 
the  man's  wishes  rule  his  minde;  therefore,  I  say,  the  wis- 
dome  might  bee  question'd  of  anie  decisions  which  I  might 
reach,  or,  when  all  hath  beene  said  and  done,  I  might 
mj^selfe  be  no  better  pleased. 

There  are  more  such  questions  then  can  be  answer 'd 


[N  NOVUM  ORGANUM.  131 

here  in  th'  time  that  doth  remaine,  yet  I  beleeve  my  dis- 
cypherer  to  be  much  accustomed  to  these  debates, — a 
wordy  musi'g, — if  this  paradoxe  will  be  more  cleare.  It 
shall  bee  seene  that  to  my  minde  the  discypherer  is  th' 
modest  co'fessor,  who  listeneth  behind  a  lattise  to  what  I 
do  impart;  and  so  discreet  is  he,  a  word  doth  nere  circulate 
which  hath  beene  given  to  his  eare. 

Indeed  he  is  to  me  a  friend  who  can  reach  out  his  hand 
across  the  abysm  of  the  ages,  and  give  such  aide  as  none 
present  hath  given,  or  in  truth  can  give  to  me,  in  labour 
of  wondrous  pow'r,  inasmuch  as  herein  is  writ  a  history  of 
that  most  remarkable  royale  daughte'  of  the  Tudors  who 
united  qualities  little  esteem'd,  to  traits  worthie  of  the" 
soveraigne  of  soe  important  a  nation  as  England — Eliza- 
beth, daughter  of  Henry  the  Eighth,  and  therefore  th' 
grandedaughter  of  him  who  was  wise  enough,  or  had  such 
wise  counsel  to  guide  him,  that  he  established  himselfe 
upon  the  strongest  claime,  but  with  a  prudent  forethought, 
learn'd  from  earlie  experience,  caste  behind  him  that 
enticing  one  of  conquest. 

If  my  title  were  given  away  too  weakly,  'twas  through 
wisdome  gained  in  part  from  the  lesson  that  hee  thus 
earlie  acquir'd,  i.  e.  that  kingdomes  got  by  conquest  may 
be  lost  by  the  same.  Without  doubt  I  should  repente 
employement  of  such  meanes  when  it  became  a  necessity 
to  maynetain  as  large  an  army  to  holde  th'  power  as  to  win 
the  same.  J^ot  being  a  souldier,  though  not  whollie 
oppos'd  in  my  naturall  temper  to  armes,  I  am  well  inclin'd 
to  knowledge,  which  is  to  my  minde  farre  more  satisfactory 
then  anie  honours.  It  hath  beene  ere  this  very  well  said: 
"A  soldier's  name  doth  live  but  an  age,  a  scholar's  imto 
eternitv." 


132  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

And  paine  which  is  siirely  th'  constante  attendant  of 
studies,  better  suiteth  with  this  life  then  mirth  and  follies, 
and  hee  that  can  say  to  pompes  and  vanities,  "Tempt  me 
not,"  conqnereth  all  other  temptation.  No  one  can  sub- 
due worldlie  passions  without  most  worthy  demonstratio' 
that  power  is  beneath  th'  apparent  morall  weaknesse.  'Tis 
to  myselfe  and  my  discypherer  that  I  am  now  making  this 
confession,  not  to  th'  world,  and  it  needeth  not  to  saye  to 
one  of  his  discernment,  I  speake  to  give  some  one  beside 
myselfe  entrance  to  the  Councell  Chambe'  of  my  heart. 
True  it  must  not  weigh  much,  for  'tis  th'  restlesse  heart 
that  is  thus  making  frequent  argume'ts  with  itselfe,  ask- 
•ing,  with  Pilate,  "What  is  truth?" 

By  no  meanes  shall  wordy  arguments  proove  that  one 
who  knoweth  his  birth  is  royall,  but  is  barr'd  from  succes- 
sion, can  soe  fix  his  thoughts  on  things  of  price,  that  there 
are  noe  mome'ts  of  regret.  The  booke  shall  tell  all.  In 
perfect  trust,  to  you  I  bequeathe  my  labours. 

FRANCIS  BARON  OF  VERULAM. 


IN  THE  PARASCEVE.  133 

THE  PARASCEVE. 

Speculative  thoughts  doe  still  their  owne  unsure  hope 
relate,  yet  must  I  undoe  the  story  of  our  times  soe  ofte 
spoken  of,  tho'  it  is  folly  in  a  royale  prince  whose  birth- 
righte  hath,  like  Esau's,  bin  given  to  another,  to  spend 
his  time  in  opposing  the  wrongs  of  his  unblemished  heart 
to  such  as  would  jeere  or  laugh  at  his  paine.  There  is  one 
in  whom  wee  may  not  onelie  confide  with  childlike  faith — 
a  spirit  seldome  seene — but  upon  whom  we  may  put  off  a 
worke  too  important  to  lye  hidd'n  longer  then  necessarie. 
This  we  neede  not  say  is  our  unfaltering,  ever  constant, 
decyph'rer. 

In  the'  following  pages,  as  we  previously  mentioned,  will 
this  historie  be  co'tinued.  Be  faithfull  till  the  last  page 
shall  have  beene  reach'd.  This  Aphorisme  somewhat 
co'tayns  of  interesse,  for  it  doth  reveale  to  my  faithful 
friend  the  name  I  should  beare.  This  is  Tudor.  Since 
Elizabeth  was  my  mother,  'tis  my  owne  lawfull  cognomen, 
and  by  right  my  brow  deserv'd  th'  rigoU,  my  body  roabs  of 
purple.  It  is  a  truth  little  knowne,  that  these  things  were 
not  well  understood,  but  none  doubt  witnesses  and  papers 
of  such  a  nature  as  those  seen  or  heard  co'ceming  th'  same. 
In  nine  places  is  this  told  in  some  Cyphe'  or  other,  that  it 
cannot  well  bee  omitted.  Indeed,  if  too  many  times  seen, 
this  discreet  and  patient  discypherer  must  make  wise  selec- 
tion and  leave  that  which  hath  previously  beene  work'd  out, 
but  th'  decipherer  should  omit  none  of  the  pages  since  it 
is  quite  important  that  he  should  know  what  is  co'tain'd  in 
everything  published.  This  now  sufficeth  by  waye  of 
directions.  To  resume  a  narratio'  o'  th'  event  of  this  secret 
marriage. 


134  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Whilst  my  mother,  the  Queene,  lay  prisoner  in  London 
Tower  she  wedded  the  Earle,  my  father — Robert  Dudley — 
of  whom  it  is  suppos'd  the  young  princesse  had  become  so 
enamor'd  that,  to  produce  a  like  passion  in  his  heart  a  love 
philter,  which  an  assista't  by  some  strategia  administer'd, 
was  made.  To  such  a  tho't  can  I  never  set  my  seale,  the' 
there  be  in  my  minde  no  doubt  of  her  great  fondnesse  for 
my  youthfull,  well-favor'd  sire.  They  came  into  our  world, 
not  th'  same  dale  onelie,  but  the  same  houre.  To  the 
phantasie  soe  abnormall  as  the  Queene's,  this  was  proof  e  of 
destiny.  It  might  perhaps  be  a  questio'  whether  a  Divine 
foretho't  determin'd  all  that  grew  from  that  acte.  Some 
would  ascribe  a  part  at  Jeast  to  evill  spiritts.  Be  that  as 
it  may,  one  fact  doth  remaine,  shee  was  wedded,  as  hatb 
beene  said,  and  he  that  addresseth  you  in  these  various 
Cyphers  was  borne  a  prince  o'  our  mighty  countrie.  Now 
must  he  humble  the  pride  of  his  naturallie  haughty  spirit 
to  obey  mandate  of  his  inferiours,  but  mankind  must 
know, — tho'  this  have  come  upon  a  prince  of  the  realme 
in  former  times, — ^th'  injustice  is  great — we  may  say, 
beyond  all  fortitude  of  mortal  minde  to  endure. 

Another  sonne  was  in  due  time  borne,  whose  spirit  much 
resembled,  in  th'  maine  qualities,  that  of  our  mere,  but 
who,  by  th'  wish  and  request  of  our  fathe'  bore  his  Chris- 
tian name,  Robert.  Hee,  reared  by  Walter  Devereux, 
bore  naturally  that  name,  after  a  time  coming  into  th' 
titles  of  Earle  o'  Essex  and  of  Ewe. 

The  desire  of  our  father,  who  remain'd  a  simple  Earle 
although  he  was  wedded  to  a  reigni'g  queene,  was  to  make 
these  affairs  so  well  understood  that  th'  succession  should 
bee  without  a  question.  To  our  mother  noe  such  measure 
was  pleasing.     By  no  argume't,  how  strong  soever,  might 


IN  THE  PARASCEVE.  135 

this  concession  he  obtain'd,  and  after  some  time  he  was  f ayne 

*to  appeal  the  case  for  us  directly  to  Parliament  to  procure 

th'  crowne  to  bee  entail'd  upo'  Elizabeth  and  th'  heyrs  of 

her  body.     He  handled  everiething  with  greatest  measure, 

as  he  did  not  presse  to  have  th'  acte  penn'd  by  waye  of  anie 

declaration  of  right,  also  avoiding  to  have  th'  same  by  a 

new  lawe  or  ordina'ce,  but  choosing  a  course  between  th' 

two,   by  waye  of  sure  establishment,   under  covert  and 

indifferent  wordes,  that  th'  inheritance  of  this  crowne,  as 

hath  been  mention'd  here,  rest,  remaine  and  abide  in  the 

Queene,  and  as  for  limitation  of  th'  entaile,  he  stopt  with 

heires  of  th'  Queene's  bodie,  not  sayinge  the  right  heires, 

thereby  leavi'g  it  to  the  lawe  to  decide,  so  as  the  entayl 

might  rather  seeme  a  favour  to  her — Elizabeth — and  to 

their  children,  then  as  intended  disi'herison  to  th'  House 

of  Stuart.     It  was  in  this  waye  th't  it  was  framed,  but 

failed  in  effect  on  accompt  of  the  ill-disposition  of  th' 

Queene  to  open  and  free  acknowledgme't  of  th'  marriage. 

But  none  could  convince  such  a  wayward  "woman  of  th' 

wisdome  of  that  honorable  course. 

Yet  I  am  perswaded  we  had  wonne  out,  if  her  anger 

agaynst  the  Earle  our  father — who  ventur'd  on  matrimony 

with  Dowager  Countesse  of  Essex,   assur'd  no  doubt  it 

would  not  bee  declar'd  illegall  by  our  warie  mother — had 

not  outlived  softer  feelings.     For  in  the  presence  o'  sev- 

erall  that  well  knew  to  whom  shee  referr'd,  when  she  was 

ill  in  minde  as  in  body,  and  th'  councill  askt  her  to  name 

th'  king,  shee  reply'd,  "It  shall  be  noe  rascalFs  sonne," 

and  when  they  preas'd  to  know  whom,   said,   "Send  to 

Scotland." 

FRA.  BARON  OF  VERULAM. 


FEANCIS  BACON. 

HENRY  THE   SEVENTH. 
1622. 

As  you  are  beginning  now  to  decypher  a  most  interest- 
ing play,  a  portion  of  which  doth  concern  my  history,  you 
get  in  a  newe  maner  keyes,  or  signes,  anie  eye  not  blinde 
will  only  too  truly  note:  or,  indeed,  not  a  newe  Ciphe'  but 
th'  first  modified.  I  will,  however,  as  much  change  my 
newe,  for  what  be  most  oft  observ'd  doff  greatlie  the  ayde 
and  protection,  reall  and  known,  o'  unfamiliaritie. 

Marke  t,  f,  c  and  e.  See  that  in  no  place  have  th' 
accents  on  a  £^  at  midle  of  th'  front  where  this  joyneth  t' 
th'  uprighte,  yet  overturn'd  it.  Th'  letter  hath  still  only 
such  a  use,  in  our  modell  or  forme,  as  it  might  in  or  by 
vertue  of  its  form.  But  we  do  contrive  t'  make  most  pecu- 
liar, artfuU  shiftes,  that  so  much  shelter  our  most  evident 
pretensions,  it- is  a  subtler  or  swifter  mind  can  followe  us 
then  most  men  do  possesse.  Take  care  for  all  of  our 
accented  letters,  and  do  not  baffle  us.  That  I,  by  curious, 
noteworthie  skill,  so  hide  this  secret,  it  fullie  proveth  t' 
everybody  of  just  temper,  somewhat  better  then  by  words, 
how  much  greate'  valew  th'  inne'  portions  possesse  then  th' 
part  seene. 

Bacon  is  to  many  only  a  great  autho',  quick  with  his 
writi'g.  None  see  or  mark,  in  most  cases,  the  plays,  yet 
i'  imagination  suppose  the  offendi'g  scenick  playes  some 
task  a  g'ild  should  naturalie  do,  not  my  rude  invention. 
I  have  produced  four  from  ancie't  Latine  and  Greeke. 
Many  such  sorts  burrie  the  works  that  I  have  said  must 
bee  written  soon.    Your  reall  art,  that  may  truly  require 

186 


IN  HENRY  THE  SEVENTH.  137 

th'  best  of  your  time,  is,  however  you  meet  m'  requests, 
thus  of  most  acco'.  It  is  a  subtly  plann'd  Cipher  that  I 
have  us'd  with  a  most  free  [hand]  to  cast  off  gloomie 
reflexions. 

You  can  marke  these  chang'd:  capital  IF,  C,  Z,  I) — c, 
small,  as  you  alreadie  have  some  time  noted,  is  at  present, 
if  unchanged  by  dots,  in  accorde  with  all,  but  h^  d,  g, 
disti'ctly  alter  their  stile.  After  they  attach  some  marke, 
all  our  letters  (as  if  one  ha'  struck  a  gale)  turn  keel;  a 
then  becometh  b,  and  b,  a.  Your  quick  eie  catches,  soon, 
all  this  that  aids  them  greatly  in  working  th'  storie  out  in 
full;  but  in  so  much  of  th'  Cipher  as  is  easilie  foUow'd,  it 
is  too  transparent.  If,  therefore,  you  finde  it  mo'  trieth  or 
co'fuseth,  seeke  in  a  portio'  of  our  historick  works  (in  th' 
Iamb)  a  law  relating  to  th'  double  Cipher,  as  it,  here, 
would  at  once  bee  seen. 

These  are  th'  plays,  which  you  shall  yet  find,  that 
Rawley  would  urge  us  to  present,  in  the  name  you  will 
alwayes  honor  ere  it  shall  receyv'  th'  lofty  but  worthie 
title  belonging  t'  it — ^better,  I  doubte,  then  when  our 
story's  written.  The  fact  very  surely  proveth  most  fully 
how  much  envie  maketh  home  both  i'  a'  elevated  minde, 
and  in  th'  vulgar. 

I  am  indeed  by  vertue  of  my  birth,  that  royall,  thoug' 
grossly  wrong'd  son  t'  our  most  glorious,  yet  most  faulty — 
I  ca'  find  no  stronger  terms — Queene  Elizabeth,  of  th' 
stocke  that  doughtie  Edward  truely  renowned.  O'  such 
stock  Henries  Fifth,  Seventh  and  Eighth,  historic  battle 
kings,  came,  like  branches  sent  from  the  oakes.  My  true 
name  is  not  as  in  some  backe  pages  it  was  giv'n,  but  Tudor. 
Bacon  was  only  foster  parent  to  my  early  youth,  yet  was 
as  loving  and  kinde  to  me  as  to  his  owne  sonne,  carefuU  o' 


138  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

my  education,  and  even  aspiring  to  my  high  advancement. 
But  to  Mistresse  Anne  Bacon,  ever  quick  with  her  sim- 
pathie  and  wise  to  advise,  do  I  owe  a  greater  or  warmer 
gratitude,  since  she  did  much  more  truly  and  constantlie 
guard,  guide,  protecte  and  counsell  me. 

Moreover,  to  her  I  do  owe  my  life,  for  though  she  did 
but  rear  me,  not  being,  de  facto,  my  mother,  it  was  by  her 
intervention  that  the  houre  of  nativitie  did  not  witnesse 
my  death.  Her  Ma.  would  truly  have  put  me  away 
privilie,  but  Mistresse  Bacon,  yearning  ove'  helplesse  baby- 
hood, saved  me,  having  held  ove'  me  a  hand  o'  protectio'. 
My  attempts  in  after  years  to  obtain  my  true,  just  and 
indisputable  title  of  Prince  o'  Wales,  heire-apparent  to  th' 
throne,  must  not  however  bee  thought  or  supposed  to  indi- 
cate that  I  held  myselfe  disinteressed  o'  these  obligations, 
offer'd  affronte  to  these  kind  benefactors,  or  in  any  waye 
conducted  myselfe  in  such  manner  as  would  either  cast 
reflexio's  upo'  my  breeding,  or  doe  discredit  to  my  birth. 
It  may  clearly  be  seen  that  it  was  but  the  most  common- 
place of  ideas — an  actio'  barelie  ambitious,  because  'twas 
simply  naturall.  But  it  fail'd  most  sadly,  for  th'  would- 
bee  Virgin  Queene,  with  promptnesse,  (not  liking  our  peo- 
ple's hearts  to  be  set  upon  a  king)  before  my  ^ ,  i?,  C '«, 
even,  were  taught  to  me,  or  th'  elements  of  all  learning,' 
instructe'  my  tutores  t'  instill  into  my  young  minde  a 
desire  t'  do  as  my  foster  father  had  done,  aspiring  to  high 
political  advancement,  look  for  enduring  renowne  there; 
not  dreaming,  even,  o'  lack  wherein  I  should  looke  for 
many  honours,  since  I  was  led  to  think  I  was  borne  t' 
nothing  higher. 

Of  a  truth  in  her  gracious  moodes,  my  royall  mother 
shewed  a  certaine  pride  in  me  when  she  named  me  her 


IN  HENRY  THE  SEVENTH.      '  139 

little  Lo.  Keeper,  but  not  th'  Prince — never  owned  that 
that  be  truely  the  rightfull  title  I  should  beare,  till  Cecill 
did  sorelj  anger  her  and  bring  on  one  o'  those  outbreaks  o' 
tempe'  against  one  of  th'  ladies  o'  her  traine  who,  foolish 
to  rashnesse,  [did]  babble  such  gossip  to  him  as  she  heard 
at  the  Court.  I'  her  look  much  malicious  hatred  bum'd 
toward  me  for  ill-avis'd  interference,  and  in  hastie  indig- 
nation said: 

"You  are  my  own  borne  sonne  but  you,  though  truly 
royall,  of  a  fresh,  a  masterlie  spirit,  shall  rule  nor  ^Eng- 
land, or  your  mother,  nor  reigne  ore  subjects  yet  t'  bee. 
I  bar  from  succession  forevermore  my  best  beloved  first- 
bome  that  bless'd  my  unio'  with — ^no,  I'll  not  name  him, 
nor  need  I  yet  disclose  the  sweete  story  conceal'd  thus 
farre  so  well  men  only  guesse  it,  nor  know  o'  a  truth  o'  th' 
secret  marriages,  as  rightfull  to  guard  the  name  o'  a 
Queene,  as  of  a  maid  0'  this  realm.  It  would  well  beseeme 
you  to  make  such  tales  skulk  out  of  sight,  but  this  suteth 
not  t'  your  kin'ly  spirit.  A  sonne  like  mine  lifteth  hand 
nere  in  aide  to  her  who  brought  him  foorth;  hee'd  rather 
uplift  craven  maides  who  tattle  thus  whenere  my  face 
(aigre  enow  ev'r,  they  say)  turnethirom  them.  What  will 
this  brave  boy  do?     Tell  «,  b,  o'sf 

Ending  her  tirade  thus  she  bade  me  rise.  Tremblingly 
I  obeyed  her  charge,  summon'd  a  serving-man  to  lead  me 
to  my  home  and  sent  to  Mistresse  Bacon.  "That  mother 
of  my  dark  Atimies  shall  free  my  name,"  said  I,  "for 
surelie  I  am  her  sonne.  May  mother  lie,  or  cruel  Fates  do 
me  like  wrong?  My  God!  let  not  a  lot  more  hard,  alas, 
then  death  come  t'  me.  When  a  ripe  evil  doth  breake 
upon  wicked  men,  th'  justice  i'  Thy  holie  law,  ev'n  in 
chastiseme't  holdeth  men — not  that  arrow  of  pestilence: 


140  BI-LtTERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

but  I  am  innocent,  0  my  God!  Visit  not  the  evill  we 
much  scorn,  on  me  th'  innocuous  fruit." 

In  th'  dark  I  waged  warre  manfully,  supposing  that  my 
life  in  all  the  freshnesse  of  youth  was  made  unbearable. 
It  did  so  much  exhaust,  that,  afte'  pause  of  a  moment,  I 
brast  flood-like  into  Mistres  Bacon's  chamber  and  told  her 
my  storie,  ISTo  true  woman  can  beare  th'  sight  o'  any 
tear.  I  grasped  her  arm,  weeping  and  sobbing  sore,  and 
entreated  her  (artfully,  as  I  thought,  hidi'g  my  secret),  t' 
say  'pon  oath  I  was  i'  trtith  the  sonne  of  herselfe  and  her 
honoured  husband.  I  made  effort  to  conceal  my  fear  that 
I  was  base  sonne  to  the  Queene,  per  contra,  I  eke,  most 
plainlie  shew'd  it  by  my  distresse.  When  therefore  my 
sweet  mother  did,  weeping  and  lamenting,  owne  to  me 
that  I  was  in  very  truth  th'  sonne  o'  th'  Queene,  I  burst 
into  maledictio's  'gainst  th'  Queene,  my  fate,  life,  and  all 
it  yieldeth,  till,  wearie,  on  bent  knees  I  sank  down,  and 
floods  o'  tears  finished  my  wilde  tempestuous  invective. 
When,  howsoever,  that  deare  ladie  saw  this,  with  womanly 
wisedome,  to  arrest  fury  or  perchance  to  prevent  such 
despaire,  said  to  me: 

"Spare  my  ear,  or  aim  rightly,  boy,  for  you  do  wrong 
jour  mother  with  such  a  thought.  Pause  least  as  to  Absa- 
lom a  sudden  vengeance  come.  When  you  list  to  my 
words,  you  then  will  knowe  that  you  do  also  wrong  that 
noble  gentleman,  your  father.  Earl  Robert,  at  the  meere 
mention  o'  this  folly  would  rise  in  great  wrath  and  call 
down  Heaven's  judgements  on  you." 

At  the  word,  I  besought  her  to  speake  my  father's  name, 
when  granting  my  request,  she  said:  "He  is  the  Earle 
of  Leicester."  Then  as  it  made  me  cease  to  sob,  she  said 
againe:    "I  tooke  a  most  solemne  oath  not  to  reveale  your 


IN  HENRY  THE  SEVENTH.  141 

storie  to  you,  but  you  may  hear  my  unfinish'd  tale  to  th' 
end  if  you  will  go  to  th'  midwife.  Th'  doctor  would  be 
ready  also  to  give  proofes  of  your  just  right  to  be  named 
th'  Prince  of  this  realm,  and  heire-apparent  to  the  throne. 
Neverthelesse  Queene  Bess  did  likewise  give  her  solemn 
oath  of  bald-faced  deniall  of  her  marriage  to  Lord  Leices- 
ter, as  well  as  her  motherhood.  Her  oath,  so  broken,  robs 
me  of  a  sonne.  O  Francis,  Francis,  breake  not  your 
mother's  heart!  I  cannot  let  you  go  forth  after  all  the 
years  you  have  beene  the  sonne  o'  my  heart.  But  night  is 
falling.  To-day  I  cannot  longer  speake  to  you  of  so 
weighty  a  matter.  This  hath  mov'd  you  deepely  and 
though  you  now  drie  your  eyes,  you  have  yet  many  teare 
marks  upon  your  little  cheekes.  Go  now;  do  not  give  it 
place,  i'  thought  or  word,  a  brain-sick  woman,  though  she^, 
be  a  Queene,  can  take  my  sonne  from  me.  Eetire  at  once,, 
my  boy."  x.  , 

With  'Tarewell,"  her  heart  half  bursting,  she  bade  mee^ 
leave  her,  and  I,  fond  boy,  kingly  power  deerly  yearn  t' 
winn — dreame  of  goldene  scepters,  prou'  courts,  and  by- 
and-by  a  crowne  on  mine  innoce't  brow.  AUedg'd  oathe, 
or  any  unrighteous  rule,  sho'ld  never  from  the  English 
throne  barre  the  grand-sonne  to  Henry  th'  Eight,sonne  to 
Elizabeth  i'  lawfull  marriage;  and  by  vertue  of  these 
rights,  in  that  it  is  the  stile  of  the  eldest  sonne  o'  Eng- 
land's Soveraigne,  no  lesse  then  that  of  the  Prince  o'' 
Wales  is  my  proper  title. 

In  due  course  o'  time,  however,  I,  at  daie's  meridian,, 
was  by  my  newe-found  royall  mother  re-call'd  and  given 
private  audience.  I  learn'd  from  the  interview,  and  sub- 
sequent occurrences,  that  th'  matter  was  trulie  to  be  mar- 
gente  of  my  desire,  and  that  it  was,  at  present,  in  fancie 


142  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

that  I  bore  this  lofty  name,  or  a  stile  other  then  that 
actually  mine  in  my  home.  A  princely  name,  it  seemed, 
was  one  to  bee  thought  upon,  not  reckon'd  'pon  as  apt  to 
bee  given  me;  for  so  all  fabrickes,  baselesse,  (though  one, 
no  doubt,  shall  be  ev'n  t'  th'  end  of  life  busily  construct- 
ing) i'  woful  mines  upon  lowly  shiftinge  sands  do  fall. 

I  mention'd  that  although  'twas  guess'd  by  one  [that] 
another  is  rightfully  the  husband  of  this  subtle  Queene, 
(nor  can  he  make  lesse  ill-timed  propositions)  he  so  wisht 
to  betray  her  to  the  entire  nation  as  one  unworthy  their 
respec',  by  airs  of  enamour'd  address  not  onely,  but  in  a 
formall  most  princely  and  courtlie  wonte  ask'd  (at  an 
extra  especial  session  of  th'  Queene's  abated,  astounded 
and  disspleased  private  councel)  negotiations.  All  wayes 
and  meanes  of  avoiding  th'  open  declaration  were  adopted 
at  once.  The  royall  suitor,  however,  as  a  Poleak  at  missing 
aime,  was  angered,  and,  great  ado  making,  did  so  disturb 
our  great  men, — who,  as  birdes  are  amidst  hawkes,  were 
thereat  cow'ring  with  fear  o'  publick  disgrace, — that  many 
saw  this.  As  it  influenced  State  affaires,  it  was  admirable. 
If  no  act  made  th'  heires  of  Elizabeth  rightfullie  bastard, 
it  was  proper  some  meanes  to  shew  legitimacy,  that  will 
i;ii  no  waye  cause  tumult  throughout  England,  be  ofer'd. 
Any  such  measure  found  no  kinde  of  regard  i'  th'  sight  o' 
vain  minded  Queene  Elizabeth,  whose  look  traineth  men 
as  vain  as  her  owne  selfe.  Th'  would-be  idole  of  half  the 
great  princes  of  Europe, — concluding  it  would  be  lesse 
pleasing  in  a  f  ewe  yeares  to  have  all  the  people  knowe  that 
she  is  the  wife  of  th'  Earle  of  Leicester,  then  suppose  her 
the  Virgin  Queene  she  call'd  herselfe, — both  props  and 
■shields  alike  despis'd,  nor  did  she  at  any  subsequent  time 
reverse  her  decision.     For  such  a  triviall,  unworthie,  un- 


IN  HENRY  THE  SEVENTH.  143 

righteous  cause  was  my  birthrighte  lost,  and  nought  save 
the  strong  will  of  Elizabeth  turned  men  from  conspiracie 
t'  place  me  on  th'  throne.  To  winne  backe  their  loyalty 
she  assum'd  most  kingly  aires,  and,  upon  occasion  har- 
angued the  army,  riding  upon  a  richly  caparison'd  horse 
before  the  lines,  and  naming  herselfe  th'  King.  I  for 
dear  life  dare  not  to  urge  my  claim,  but  hope  that  Time 
shall  ope  th'  waye  unto  my  rightfull  honors. 

The  story  of  my  entire  life  is  told  in  some  most  subtile 
waies.  My  plays,  (now  so  nearly  completed,  that  we  pre- 
mise we  may  to  him  great  glory  bring  i'  whose  name  I 
write)  have  letters  which  I  write  to  you  in  my  other,  more 
principall,  typic,  or  word-sign  Cypher,  that  like  that  card 
a  ship's  watchf ull  mate  nere  taketh  his  eye  off  in  a  time 
of  storm,  must  be  closely  observ'd. 

Round  certaine  words  that  I  name  keyes,  one  cluster 
may  bee  scene  to  have  its  place  in  othe'  kinds  o'  worke.  T' 
aid  in  finding  keyes,  some  words  are  not  capitalized:  when- 
ere  a  fewe  such  are  repeated  frequentlie,  take  note  of  it 
and  oiir  design,  which  wee  saw  written  in  a  night  vision, 
will  take  its  proper  form  i'  th'  minde.  Let  th'  wordes  in 
parenthese'  next  to  be  found.  N.  B.  every  time  such  seem 
to  be  us'd  ad  lihitum ,  it  showeth  they  are  keies.  Such  use 
o'  capitalls  meaneth  that  this  pointeth  out  th'  words  I  will 
so  use. 

But  it  is  by  othe'  devices,  as  in  cloth  o'  Persian  silk, 
a  patterne  soon  openeth  out  of  the  confusio'.  Any  aven- 
turous  worker  can  easilie  trace  it  if  he  doth  get  th'  true  art. 
Th'  keys  tak'n  are  aids  onely.  Seeke  out  all  of  the  works 
I  name,  ere  th'  deciph'ring  naturally  attracteth  you  so 
continually,  no  pledg'd  attentive  devotion  to  more  labor- 
ious work  may  hold  you  to  this  necessary  part.     Let  all 


144  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON, 

things  be  done  carefullie  and  in  order,  following  the  way 
I,  darkly,  have  pointed  out  to  you  and  seeke  diligently  for 
the  light. 

No  sparke  sheweth  from  th'  flint  until  it  be  strucke, 
nor  can  you  finde  th'  fitfull  sparkes  that  hide  within  our 
pages  if  you  doe  not  work  in  manifold  wayes,  in  season  and 
out,  to  uncove'  our  flinty  Ciphers  and  strike  them  shai-pely. 
Look  not  to  finde  a  steady  raye  that  doth  as  sunlight  shine 
unfalteringly.  'Tis  as  swift  lightning;  ev'n  before  we  say, 
"Lo  it  is  there!"  'tis  gone,  and  vastie  darkenesse  swalloweth 
up  our  sight.  However,  'tis  quite  sufiicient  for  my  pur- 
pose, and  as  more  light  would  defeate  rather  then  further 
famous  designes,  to  have  bestowed  more  were  foolish 
waste.  My  decypherer  alone  doth  get  the  benefit,  while 
spies  o'  all  sorts  are  dazzled  and  misled.  Wherefore  take 
good  heart,  for  not  all  now  see  what  is  revealed  to  one 
that  hath  found  what  is  the  law  of  our  Ciphers;  for,  for 
years,  I,  an  eager  follower  after  all  learning,  have  so 
laboured  t'  finish  this  worke  and  to  perfect  it,  that  you 
cannot  misse  my  object.  A  system  so  exact  must  in  the 
end  yielde  what  our  designe  doth  intend. 

Proceed,  therefore,  in  this  manne'.  Seeke  near  each 
key  that  othe'  or  joining-word,  which  you  will  find  oft 
repeated,  and  bring  parts  together.  I  knowe  you  feel  a 
desire  to  write  at  once,  and  beg  you  to  be  in  no  haste,  for 
if  you  leave  searching  out  th'  keyes  and  putting  apart  the 
materials  for  the  building  o'  th'  pallaces,  you  will  be  as 
a  beggar  going  from  door  t'  door  without  a  wall  that  can 
keepe  off  tempestuous  winds  or  a  roofe  to  shelter  you. 
Yet  if  you  shall,  as  I  direct,  patientlie  collect  the  blockes 
of  marble,  which  are  already  polish'd  and  prepar'd, — 


IN  HENRY  THE  SEVENTH.  145 

Like  t'  a  king's  th^  shining  walls  shall  rise, 

While  high  upon  the  loftie  gleaming  tow'rs 

Th'  golden  roofe  may  outbrave  Illium's. 

No  sound  shall  come  o'  anie  instruments, 

As  any  iron  tools,  or  ax,  or  hammer: 

As  in  the  beauteous  temple,  as  we  read, 

In  silent  grandeur  stone  on  stone  was  reared, 

So  noiselesse,  so  inaudible  shall  bee 

The  building  of  my  glorious  pallaces. 

Let  no  conspiracie  t'  make  you  leave 

For  idole  Fancie'  noble  Truth's  faire  realme, 

A  moment  winne  you,  but  for  this  assay 

Break  cressive  love,  throw  off  th'  filmy  band! 

Nor  in  th'  mazes  of  a  winding  way 

Is  risk'd  a  foot  of  him  that  would  out-go 

In  fleetnes  stepps  of  winged  Mercury; 

Then  stray  not  in,  or,  ere  one  is  aware. 

The  entrance  to  th'  labyrinth's  quite  lost — 

Th'  unmarking  eies  nor  see  nor  read  th'  signs 

Which  of  the  strait  and  narrow  way  do  make, 

A  shini'g  pathway  to  th'  golden  mount. 

The  purposes,  like  to  a  weather-cock  that  chang'd. 
Turning  ere  lazie  eies  had  noted  it, 
Ne'er  made  one  master  o'  the  Grecia'  art, — 
That  wondrous  use  made  both  o'  stone  and  canvass,— 
Neyther  can  sto'ier  defiant  Cipher, 
As  flint-like  as  th'  hardest  stone  now  wrought, 
Bee  rounded  so  to-day  t'  symmetry, 
Unlesse  old  rules  shall  next  reveale  a  keye. 
I  eke  in  verse,  sing  of  my  one  great  theame; 
In  verse  we  told  the  story  o'  our  birth. 
If  one  or  other  should  on  halting  feet,  i 


146  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OP  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Limp  on  apace,  lenify  easily, 

And  oft  undo  parts  never  justly  given 

So  that  at  best  this  shall  by  iteration, 

Shew  its  full  use. 
As  th'  object  is  gained  by  that,  better,  in  very  truth, 
and  more  easily — of  a  mark'd  degree — we  have  in  many 
places,  oft  on  beginning  a  new  portion,  given  th'  deciph- 
erer in  manner  differing,  (but  in  nothing  of  importance 
changed)  repetition  of  our  work  as  you  may  see.  Always, 
as  you  will  perhaps  note,  th'  law  wrought  compleatelie  to 
perfection,  giveth  you  the  whole  story.  To  place  the 
cardes  then  soe  carefuUie  that  no  losses  can  hap,  was  not 
an  easie  taske;  but  I  have  not  yet  seen  any  ground  of 
feare  that  my  designe  may  be  at  fault.  All  is  cleare  as 
A.  B.  C.  I  wag'd  my  best,  and  it  repayeth  the  outlay 
well. 

Though  as  to  the  dramatic  as  fundamental  works  I  can 
finde  noe  fault,  the  limits  of  historie  we  found  cramping; 
for  as  in  [a]  play  nothing  unnaturall  is  of  anie  use,  you 
find,  in  writi'g  a  simple  tale  o'  history  onlie  the  truth 
availeth.  It  better  doth  aid  th'  writer  of  events  t'  have 
little  imagination.  A  book  rightly  giveth  truth  in  its 
beautie  more  fame  then  any  story  i'  brass  monuments, 
and  the  names  o'  authors  living  may  grace  it.  And  I, 
for  I  greatly  desire  fame,  have  rear'd  high  my  noble  pile, 
but  only  the  letter  I  have  written  to  my  decypherer  hath 
the  secre'  o'  my  untiring  heart  and  hand.  Pile  the  lofty 
works  to  mark  my  tomb.     I  ask  no  truer  monument. 

Although  this  is  risking  the  losse  o'  th'  most  valew'd 
works,  still  I  would  that  it  be  so  left,  for  reasons  which 
I  must,  at  th'  beck  o'  th'  heavy  hand  Death  wieldeth,  shew 
unto  th'  world;  but  no  historie  save  mine  reveals  th'  story. 


IN  HENRY  THE  SEVENTH.  I47 

as  it  doth  beseem  secret  letters.  I,  but  fabricke  of  my 
fancy  it  will  sound,  yet  it  hatb  truth  in  all.  Even  his- 
torick  writi'gs  may  draw  somewhat  upon  that  for  aid,  yet 
my  worthy  work's  not  kin.  Leave  most  futile  and  worth- 
lesse  attempts  to  undo  me:  This  truth  must  span  that 
narrow  arch  above  Time's  current,  where  soft  hued  rain- 
bows give  promise  of  the  car,  banded  with  gold,  i'  which 
we  note  Apollo  in  his  pride,  who  ever  carryeth  t'  th'  sonnes 
o'  men  his  beauteous  beams  of  light.  Daye  he  lends  the 
beautie  pure  and  shining  that  crownes  her  awful  brow, 
and  Eve  winns,  too,  th'  gold  tipt  arrow  wrought  to  so  fine 
a  point,  that  shiny  spear-head  is  sirnam'd  a  starre. 

As  hath  beene  said,  it  was  such  a  very  difficult  under- 
taki'g  to  adapt  another  historic  to  the  purposes  of  the 
Ciphers,  Ave  let  our  judgement  oft-times  decide  upon  the 
manner  of  narration,  alwayes  provided  the  truth  did  by 
this  method  by  no  meanes  suffer.  Whenever  this  soe 
meerly  formall  device  failed,  manie  more  were  soon  de- 
vised. A  mark  in  lines  I  wish  to  have  divided,  when 
found  in  the  other  or  Latine  tipe,  shall  have  to  such  an 
eye  a  newe  significance,  not  such  as  it  would  have  in  th' 
Italic.     As  you  see  I  blent  everie  eye,  save  one,  in  this. 

Next  I  us'd  numerous  means  (nor  on  being  examin'd 
do  th'  manie  works  beare  indication  o'  revealing  the 
secret),  even  reckoned  better  in  use  for  manie  sorts  o' 
writi'gs.  By  using  much  time  to  perfect  the  plann,  even 
of  rest  and  sundrie  such,  so-called,  necessities  deprived 
thereby  many  weekes,  I  found  the  methods  as  day  after 
day  went  by  easily  employed  and  easily  seen,  but  free 
fro'  suspition.  A  name  can  be  given  so,  for  ere  anie  other 
eye  sees  aught  but  an  ordinarie  name  of  articles  in  com- 
mon use,  the  thoroughlie  taught  decipherer  sees  some  of 


148  '  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

my  penn  names;  and  as  for  fears,  I  anticipating  them  us'd 
severall  different  names  for  one,  making  anie  pursuite 
fruitlesse.  Even  this  marginall  work,  hath  aid  for  the 
decipherer,  and  also  other  signes  are  cressets  bearing  lights 
to  mark  the  waye  that  I  would  have  him  walke ;  yet  would 
my  truer,  i.  e.,  the  more  worth'  Cipher-work,  end  ere  all 
bee  well  understoode,  were  this  alwayes  confined  to  rules, 
signes,  etcsetera.  It  is  to  make  each  a  lockt  doore  to  all 
save  my  decipherer. 

But,  at  th'  same  time,  t'  diversify  th'  worke  suficientlie, 
at  th'  beginning  many  of  my  simple  lines  are  to  be  found 
sowne  so  freely  throughout  the  work  of  this  Ciphe'  (in 
truth  that  said  work  so  much  doth  alter  this  task)  that 
need  o'  a  pleasanter,  as  shall  soon  be  seen,  cannot  be  felt 
or  knowne,  but  a  love  and  devotion  to  th'  work  shall  set 
a  newe  motif  into  action. 

Also,  in  th'  Cipher,  use  of  th'  elements,  the  sev'n  great 
wonders,  the  seven  planets,  with  manie  of  th'  vertues  a 
fair  kept  recorde  sheweth,  and  vices  soe  black  that  never 
could  an  angell  see  one,  but  its  eie'  would  fill  t'  overflow- 
ing, also  a  long  and  well  arrang'd  table  of  such  things  as 
are  dayly  used  and  familiar  to  all,  beter  keepeth  my  plans 
from  jeopardie  then  the  strong  guard  of  our  king  doth  his 
sacred  person. 

All  this  must  bee  found,  before  you  can  apply  your- 
self e  easilie  unto 'this  goodlie  work  of  mine,  that  I  msh 
you  to  do  at  once.  If  it  may  at  th'  first  seem  of  little 
real  value,  the  value  of  a  correct  story  (ill  as  it  may  make 
one  most  exalted  person  come  out,  aye  most  false,  on  evill 
trulie  gloating),  soone  will  be  apparent. 

You  are  to  get  eleven  old  plaies,  publisht  in  th'  name 
I  have  us'd  lately  at  th'  theatre,  and  many  much  valued 


IN  HENRY  THE  SEVENTH.  149 

by  scenick  Caesars  who  conquer,  ever,  a  lack  created  on 
our  stage — from  th'  withdrawing  of  some  lame  and  halt 
plays  t'  embark  again  in  new  forme  t'  aide  my  projects — 
by  compelling  th'  production  of  others.  And  therein  you 
will  finde  th'  beginning  of  many  stories,  both  i'  di;amati- 
call  forme  (also  in  that  raw  unfinished  forme)  and  in  lam- 
bick  verse.  But  the  haste  with  which  some  parts  were 
compleated,  will  explaine  this.  When  these  plays  may 
come  foorth,  for  many  reasons  cannot  now  be  determined, 
but  I  proniise  you,  it  shall  be  soone.  "Wisely  and  slow," 
is  a  proverb  of te  on  my  lips,  and  as  oft  unheeded,  even  by 
myselfe,  also.  But  an  axe  that  cijtteth  well  must  be  well 
sharpened — then  it  doth  become  us  all  to  looke  well  to 
our  instruments: 

For  you  must  cut  apart  my  various  bookes. 

Spreading  them  out  upon  a  mark'd  scrutoire. 

Which,  as  th'  chart  or  mappe  th'  sailor  hath 

Doth  pointe  out  everie  countrey  of  th'  world. 

In  f  aire,  clear  lines,  this  great  expanse  doth  name. 

So  faire  and  beauteous  th'  bound  I  set. 

Though  'tis  at  riske  o'  this  secret  designe. 

Then  separate  each  part,  to  joyne  againe 

According  as  your  guide  hereby  discloseth. 

In  riche  mosaickes,  wondrous  to  behold. 

To  bee  admir'd  by  all  the  sonnes  of  men. 

Heere  is  a  crowne,  gemme-starred,  and  golden  scepter, 

A  crosse  and  ball — insignia  of  ranke. 

Even  of  royalty,  soe  pure  and  high 

No  blur  is  on  it,  but  like  to  frost  flowers, 

Januarie's  blossoms  icie  white, 

It  gleameth  i'  th'  light  of  cache  faire  morne. 


150  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Oh  let  not  man  forget  these  words  divine: 
"Inscrutable  do  hearts  of  kings  remaine." 
If  he  remark  a  pensive  dying  fall 
In  th'  musicke  of  these  straines,  let  him  forbear 
To  question  of  its  meaning.     List  again, — 
As  hath  been,  is,  and  evermore  shall  bee — 
Ages  retarde  your  flight  and  turn  to  hear — 
Cor  regis  inscrutahile.     Amen. 
Yet  'tis  the  glorie  of  our  Heavenlie  King 
To  shroud  in  mystery  His  works  divine. 
And  to  kings  mundane  ever  shall  redound 
In  greatest  compasse  glory  to  th'  names 
O'  such  as  seeke  out  Nature's  misteries; 
Fortune  may  aid  him;  Honor  may  attend; 
Truth  waite  upon  him;  as  we  look,  crampt  Art 
Doth  reach  forth  to  faire  light,  undreamt  of  lore; 
While  Reputation  soundeth  through  th'  world 
Unto  Time's  close,  glory  in  [highest]  measure. 
To  him  that  to  th'  depths  doth  search  wide  Seas, 
Digge  deepe  into  th'  Earth,  unto  th'  Aire  ' 
And  region  of  th'  Fire  climbe  fearlessly. 
Till  he  th'  World,  the  Heavens  and  e'en  th'  Uni- 
verse,— 
With  human  eyes  that  better  can  discern 
Then  mountaine  eagle,  gazing  at  th'  sunne, — 
Doth  finde  out  secrets  hid  fro'  humankind 
Since  th'  foundations  of  th'  earth  were  laid, 
,     Stampt  with  the  impresse  of  the  Heavenlie  Hand ; 
And  in  grave  musick  deepe  to  deepe  did  call, 
While  morning  starres  together  sang  a  hymn 

Time  lendeth  to  Eternity  for  aye. 

Fr.  B. 


MARLOWE. 

EDWARD   THE  SECOND. 
1622. 

Yon  will  find  here  that  sad,  sad,  sad  tale  o'  my  brother 
Essex  which  runs  darkling  thro'  my  plaie,  the  secret  th' 
books  contain,  the  most  comon  themes  in  any  or  all  lan- 
gwages,  polish'd  writings  in  everie  stile  named  in  any  Rhe- 
tor'cke,  not  sparing  sundry  dearly  lov'd  poets,  but  so  mak- 
ing over  my  erly  college  songs  of  ancie't  world  lore  (of  th' 
hero's  fam'd  still  through  Homer  et.  al.)  that  no  part  is 
lost.  Much,  however,  as  I  say,  shal  assert  things  such  as 
will  be  recorded  in  no  place  which  might  be  subject  t'  the 
scrutinie  o'  enimie  or  of  friend.  Many  of  the  hidden  plays 
have  no  other  object  I  assure  you. 

Any  writi'gs  o'  my  penne,  be  they  in  mine  owne  name 
or  in  that  of  my  friend,  is  the  work  o'  th'  hand  you  have 
so  long  knowne  as  untiring — of  the  same  restless  minde 
and  spirit.  Now  hunt  out  our  hidden  epistle  for  it  doth 
foile  tiresome  friends;  foes  who,  most  constantly  watchi'g 
(ever  closely  bent  o'  use  o'  some  kind  or  sort  of  secret)  win 
th'  starte  yet  lose  th'  scent;  and  thus  do  curious  men,  try 
however  they  may  in  weake  attempts  at  resistance,  wander 
in  rairie  waies,  and  I  followe  this  busines  and  this  play,  if 
recreative  labours  may  be  stil'd  plaie.  Many  days  pass  in 
th'  work  that  is  here  given.  Oft  more  of  the  dayes  then 
may  justlie  be  used  in  such  a  way.  This  is  principall  in 
favour  (since  none  but  my  owne  selfe  doth  know  of  its 
appearance),  to  furder  my  object  and  to  avoid  ev'n  th' 
slight  suspicion  of  persons  reading  my  plai's. 

161 


152  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

A  booke  is  as  an  un wrought  lump  of  metall:  you  see 
not  th'  rich  shine  of  it  beneath  sundry  thin  coates  that 
obscure  it.  The  same  is  true  of  everything  herein.  Study 
my  signes,  learn  to  read  my  numerous  small  Cyphers  for 
their  designe  was  to  make  the  worke  easy.  Doe  this  as 
directed  untill  the  whole  is  understoo'  soe  well  no  great 
difficulty  will  bee  found  in  th'  deciphering. 

You  next  join  Lear  to  this,  a  history  of  Henrie  th' 
Sevent,  Th'  Life  and  Death  of  King  John,  and  Burton's 
great  prose,  (not  the  best  I  have  so  given  another  man,  but 
better  for  work  of  various  parts  then  plaies)  those  which  I 
name  Peele  on  th'  stage,  or  that  Arraignment  I  have  men- 
tion'd,  th'  David,  one  of  my  oldest  books  put  out  in  a  time 
when  we  minded  onelie  our  achiev'mente — th'  result  of 
our  long  study. 

Time  now  doth  unveil  many  things  ungues'd  or  un- 
dream'd  of  by  any.  To  do  away  with  mistery  we  set  forth 
a  large  work  De  Augmentis  S. — now  translated,  to  shut  th' 
casket,  but  if  th'  keys  to  it  should  now  be  sunk,  th'  story 
it  contains  (our  twelft  king's  nativity  since  our  sovereign, 
whose  tragedy  we  relate  in  this  way,)  shall  now  know  the 
day,  nor  shall  the  Latine  hide,  nor  our  disguises,  many 
and  valew'd  as  they  be,  keep  my  story  from  th'  eyes  of  the 
curious  searchers  in  a  new  mine.  Such  a  prize  hath  my 
book  to  give  the  student  of  the  work  whose  entry  is  farre 
in  the  vantguard;  the  armies  rereward  may  lose  th'  glory 
of  it  all. 


FRANCIS  BACON. 

HISTORIA  VIT^  &  MORTIS. 
1623. 

Leaving  out  those  Latin  letters — of  the  several  plays — 
may  throw  upon  the  Italiques  suspition  of  its  purpos'd 
emploiement  or  of  planne,  and  Revelation  may  too  soone 
remoove  the  well-designed  masque  which  Prudence  would 
but  slightly  stir.  To  prepare  as  manie  alphabets  as  would 
but  be  manifesto  upon  my  shorter  pages,  can  be  scene  to  be 
prodigious  labour,  and  hath  consum'd  many  of  my  spare 
hours  of  late, — if  I  may  speake  thus  of  any  howers,  since 
my  time  is  most  constantly  turned  to  inve'tion  of  this  sort 
or  kinde  that  noe  portion  of  my  history  may  remaine 
unwritten. 

It  is  true  it  is  manie  times  told,  as  my  f  aithf  uU  decypherer 
must  know  if  hee  have  perfomi'd  anie  worthy  part  of  this 
work,  yet  it  is  very  improbable  hee  can  have  diseyph'red 
a  history  as  true  as  'tis  strange  with  a  marvellous  storie 
of  our  late  soveraigne  therein,  yet  tave  told,  writ,  or  put 
forth  this  knowledge  nowhere.  In  truth  feare  is  grow- 
ing within  mee  that  this  is  all  a  lost  labour,  for  it  doth 
seeme  too  well  hidden  to  iinde  the  light  of  dale,  and  it 
doth  ever  wage  th'  warre  in  my  heart  with  most  earnest 
desire  for  sweete  asura'ce  of  a  safety  I  have  not  for  manie 
a  day  or  yere  felt. 

The  death  of  a  king  that  now  usurpeth  my  rightful! 
throne,  may  avayle  not  to  give  to  one,  who  wrong'd  by  his 
owne  roiall  mother  can  shewe  his  claime  but  by  his  owne 

15S 


154  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

and  his  frends'  word,  th'  crowne  and  scepter  of  this  vast© 
kingdome.  The  papers  that  would  testify  as  mouths  of 
livi'g  and  present  observers,  speaking  of  truth  to  them  well 
known,  were  long  guarded  with  care,  but  it  will  be  recall'd 
to  your  minde,  doubtles,,  that  in  Queene  Elizabeth  no  sense 
of  justice  was  so  strong  as  her  loves,  though  her  self-love 
overmaster'd  everie  emotion.  It  will  make  cleere,  perhaps, 
her  manifesto  delight  when  mine  of  my  hopes  came  by 
the  destruction  of  said  papers,  and  her  refusall  to  make 
due  restitution  to  myselfe.  As  all  witnesses  were  gone,  as 
th'  time  to  prove  my  right  to  raigne  ove'  England  came, 
no  hands  were  uplifted  there,  as  hath  too  oft  in  my  writ- 
ings of  these  events  beene  retold,  to  bee  secure  yet  transmit 
to  th'  comming  men  of  th'  land,  a  tale  of  wrong  nearlie 
unknown  'mongst  a  greater  part  of  the  present  genera- 
tion. Brieflie,  'tis,  as  you  may  have  learnt  in  Cypher 
workes  such  as  this,  a  prerogative  of  my  birth,  th'  power 
that  is  shewn  in  the  outward  and  visible  signs  of  royall 
throne,  scepter,  robes  and  crowne, — mine  the  coveted  stile, 
Eex. 

AltKough  wedded  whilst  she  was  but  th'  proud,  unhappie, 
tho'  still  spirited  princesse  that  Queene  Mary  held  to  be 
dangerous  in  freedome,  and  for  this  cause  sent  off  without 
forme  of  trial  to  languish  in  London  Tow'r,  afte'  her  ascent 
t-o  royale  power,  before  my  birth,  a  second  nuptiall  rite 
duly  witness'd,  was  observed,  soe  that  I  was  borne  in  holy 
wedlocke. 

But  having  no  true  desire  of  my  advancement,  oieyther 
th'  Queene  nor  my  sire,  suiting  the  word  to  th'  action,  ever 
set  a  scale  upon  th'  papers  that  declar'd  the  legitimacy  or 
fully  established  my  claime.  Therefore  th'  aforesaid 
papers  which  were  destroy'd,  were  the  testimony  of  Lord 


IN  HISTORIA  VIT^  &  MORTIS.  155 

P.,  at  whose  house  this  marriage  was  solemnized  th'  second 
time, — hee  having  stro'g  suspition  that  these  might,  at  a 
remote  date  perchance  be  requir'd, — Avith  other  like  sub- 
stantive testimony  confii-ming  this  same  ceremony  of  the 
Queene's  nuptialls,  and  of  my  birth,  after  a  lapse  of  time, 
certified  by  th'  physitian,  nurse,  midwife,  and  Lady  Anne 
Bacon,  my  foster  pare't,  who  saved  the  life  my  proud, 
roiall  mother  boldly  refused  to  nourrice.  Therefore  am  I 
not  known  by  that  name  which  is  mine  by  lawe,  and  men 
living  in  some  farre  off  ^on  shall  at  a  word  set  this  true 
title  and  name  to  all  bookes  I  shall  leave  in  anie  to'gue. 

My  best  playes,  at  present  as  William  Shakespeare's 
work  f  ost'red,  will  as  soone  as  one  more  plaie  bee  completed, 
weare  a  fine  but  yet  a  quiet  dresse,  as  is  seemely  in  plaies 
of  as  much  valew  and  dignity  as  sheweth  cleerly  therein, 
and  be  put  foorth  in  folio  enlarged  and  multiplyed  as  th' 
history  conceal'd  within  th'  comedies,  histories,  or  tragedies 
requir'd.  Th'  commencement  of  one  of  these  hidden 
epistles  will  bee  scene,  but  is  not  in  truth  my  earliest  let- 
ter or  first  Cipher  teachi'gs.  In  this  cheefe  device  that  I 
name  the  Word-Cipher- — being  found  by  those  keyes  joyn- 
ing  the  partes  togather — I  made  many  futile  experiments 
ere  my  great  Cipher  was  compleat,  as  you  must  have  learnt 
by  pursuing  a  course  that  I  plainlie  marked  out  for  you, 
but  if  your  course  have  bin  devious,  your  rules  may  so 
have  escapt  notice  that  part  of  th'  interiour  work  may  be 
unknown  to  you.  It  was  truly  very  difficult  to  put  out  al 
th'  secret  work  in  parts  so  small  that  it  gave  no  clew  to 
other  workes  co'cealed  in  the  plays,  th'  poems,  the  essays 
or  counsels,  et  csetera. 

To  this  work  have  many  weary  yeares  bin  ungrudgingly 
given,  inasmuch  as  by  the  meanes  then  commanded  by  an 


156  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

unskilled  penne,  ayded  no  lesse,  I  am  co'pel'd  to  admit  first 
by  worthie  pamphlets  of  some  pen  that  produc'd  no  little 
fruit,  then  by  genius,  I,  assur'd  that  time  can  do  no  harm 
to  my  inventio',  but  should  rather  make  it  valued,  ay,  and 
greatly  prized,  in  every  work- wherever  or  in  what  garb 
sent  out,  plact  my  fost'red  hidden  history. 

Blacke  as  manie  of  my  owne  heavy  maters  may  bee, 
th'  play,  indeed,  may  be  at  once  not  gaye  perchance,  but 
most  pleasing  and  also  leave  small  seedes  that  will  put  forth 
some  leaf  or  flower  as  earnest  of  harvest.  So  may  that 
which  at  this  periode  hath  for  sole  clayme  my  inner  revela- 
tion, in  future,  give  such  seede  and  fruit,  men's  thoughts 
shall  be  quite  busy  in  seeking  out  the  secret  of  the  style  I 
have  imploied  herein  and  thereby  see  th'  interiour  story. 

You  will,  I  doubt  not,  finde  valew'd  work  much  changed. 
I  alwais  alter  even  when  there  bee  more  to  adde,  and  I  may 
take  many  of  th'  parts  from  th'  plaies  put  out  in  quarto 
form  to  reset  th'  same,  having  made  a  planne  to  increase 
one  by  making  a  likeness  in  th'  theame  easily  suit  th' 
thoughts  and  ene  sundry  verses  of  others.  It  may  be  a 
long  time  ere  I  can  put  into  use  most  choise  lines  soe  culd 
fro'  early  plays,  and  so  friendes  may,  noting  th'  abse'ce  of 
these  lines,  sometime  aske  the  cause.  It  wil  not  please  those 
who  wish  to  keepe  all  things  in  pristine  shape,  stile,  or  con- 
struction, even  rejecting  improving  and  for  the  most  part 
onely  trifling  changes,  but  so,  much  accompted  of  great 
valew  loseth  true  proportion  as  it  is  plact, — it  is  highten'd 
by  th'  foil  or  dwarf'd  by  that  compariso'. 

The  new  arr'ngement  is  not  lesse  waigh'd,  studied,  and 
carefully  ballanc'd,  for  I  aim'd  onelie  to  write  with  truth 
in  everie  part  and  to  set  that  one  gemme  above  other 
treasor,    that    noe   man    shal    say   in    anie   time   to    bee, 


IN  HISTORIA  VIT^  &  MORTIS.  167 

"Th'  fruit  is  as  th'  apples  that,  turning  to  ashes,  drave  olden 
heroes  to  curse  Sodom's  deceitfulnesse."  In  due  time  a 
strength,  farre-reaching  thought  greatly  hath  increas'd, 
Cometh  to  your  eie  in  this  latter  work,  that  also  must  bee 
known  to  many  by  reading  anie  such  work  as  my  drama 
entitled  First  Part  of  King  Henrie  th'  Fourth.  The  Seco'd 
Part  of  th'  same  and  one  entitl'd  Othello  reveale  knowledge 
of  life  wanting  in  th'  common  plays  that  had  this  penne 
name  on  title  page.  These  are,  as  I  many  times  have  said, 
th'  cro"\vning  glory  of  my  pen,  even  though  there  bee  de- 
grees, as  surely  you  must  know,  of  excellence  therein;  but 
the  cause  you  may  as  well  have  learned  since  it  was  clearlie 
shewne  to  depend  upon  times,  and  likewise  upon  the  nature 
as  well  of  the  hidden  as  of  th'  open  stoyy.  Therefore  some 
will  bee  omitted  from  my  Folio,  but  some  retained  for 
causes  now  given. 

To  fix  my  rules  well  in  your  minde  is  the  most  essential 
thing  at  th'  moment,  and  many  were  put  within  those  which 
one  must  acknowled'e  possesse  little  valew.  As  half  the 
number  I  shal  assemble  have  alreadie  appeared  in  Will 
Shakespeare's  name,  I  thinke  that  it  will  be  well  to  bring 
out  the  Folio,  also,  by  some  meanes  in  th'  same  name, — 
although  he  be  gone  to  that  undiscover'd  cou'try  from 
whose  borne  no  traveller  retumes, — because  our  king  would 
be  prompt  to  avenge  th'  insult  if  his  right  to  raigne  were 
challeng'd,  and  the  sword  of  a  king  is  long  and  where  'twill 
not  extend  thither  he  darteth  it.  And  as  concerneth  th' 
plays,  the  truth  commeth  foorth  more  quickly  from  an 
errour  then  from  confhsio'  and  therefore  it  is  most  certaine 
that  it  would  by  f  arre  be  more  the  part  of  wise  and  discern- 
ing mindes  to  let  this  name  of  a  man  knowne  to  the  theatre, 
and  his  foi-mer  gay  company  of  fellowe-players,  stand  thus 


158  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

on  plays  to  him  as  little  knowne,  despite  a  long  tearme  of 
service,  as  to  a  babe.  I,  thinking  expedient  so  to  do,  now 
obay  th'  Scripture  and  caste  my  very  bread  to  the  windes 
or  sowe  it  on  th'  waters.  How  shall  it  be  at  the  harvest? 
This  wheat  must  fill  up  some  goodlie  garner.  Will  the 
golden  store — ^not  soon  since  time  doth  slowlie  moove,  yet' 
at  God  His  right  or  proper  daye  of  reward — bee  mine? 
I  thinke  this  shall  be  true,  for  manie  a  f ayre  hope  hath 
bloomed  out  snowlike  in  my  lone  heart  that  promiseth  ful 
fruition  to  my  wish.  Fame  it  may  chance — ^for  the  workes 
— shal  com-e,  tho'  not  to  the  authour  who  hid  with  so  great 
paines  his  name  that  at  this  writing  'tis  quite  unghest. 
And  th'  time  I  am  giv'n  to  spende  upon  th'  work  is  as  gold, 
princelie  gemjnes  or  purple  robes. 

All  things  in  th'  world,  of  th'  subtle  charme  that  is  too 
powerf ull  for  weak  man — such  es  be  of  greatest  worth — 
are  represented  in  this  youthful  i've'tion.  Some  that  reade 
that  which  is  yet  known  'mongst  players  as  William 
Shakespeare's,  wil  marvail  that  so  many  superiour  works 
could  have  laine  hid  in  such  seaso's  of  Prince's  celebra- 
tions. But  my  discypherer,  who  knoweth  that  the  plays 
represented  as  found  never  had  existed — are  incompleted 
in  short,  and  are  yet  my  cheefe  occupation — shall  make 
this  fully  to  bee  seene  as  'tis  made  out,  by  being  ready  in 
th'  work  I  have  therein  requested  to  have  compleated. 
This  to  many  noe  doubt  seemeth  useless  writing(g),  illy 
suted  to  that  record  of  th'  work  of  a  lifetime,  for  which 
this  Cyphre  now  in  co'stat  use  was  invented,  but  as  things 
now  are  'tis  greatly  priz'd,  since  my  history, — ^whilst  now 
as  indifferentlie  giv'n  as  such  forward  stories  of  a  man's 
owne  experiences  at  most  are,  either  in  his  thoughts  or 
writings, — shal  in  th'  relation  be  somewhat  improv'd,  my 


IN  HISTORIA  VIT^  &  MORTIS.  159 

Word  Gyphe' — taught  bj  the  others — being  work'd  in 
with  great  trustiness  and  paines. 

Yet  how  an  interior  epistle  is  colour'd  by  th'  exterior  in 
other  Cyphers  then  my  letter,  which  you  wel  understa'd, 
is  also  seene  therein.  For  heroes,  and  all  weightie  deedes, 
must  bee  suited  in  verse  both  loftie  and  fine,  whilst  true 
limn'd  passion  should  be  cloath'd  upon  as  some  flow'r — 
humble  or  flaunting,  dim  violets  or  poppy  flowre,  alike — 
adorn'd  in  many-hued  silken  tisse"we  that  time  truly  may 
not  destroy.  Each  spring  hath  brought  newe  bloome  but 
nothing  is  lost  or  greatly  altered.  In  like  mode  ill  deecfe 
must  put  on  ill  wordes,  a  verse  well  marking  the  inner 
character  of  soe  evill  a  theame. 

When  this  is  observ'd  in  making  your  own  search  for 
portio's  scattered  through  these  nimierous  new  playes,  as 
well  as  in  that  Historic  of  Jlenry  the  Seventh,  your  judge- 
ment must  truly  be  perswaded  of  purpose  therefor.  But 
if  history  shall  so  exclude  such  sympathy  of  theame  that  it 
must  stand — as  my  tomes  writ  when  my  sadde  pen  found 
the  Cipher  letters  its  sole  methode  or  meanes  by  th'  timelie 
contrivance  of  which  its  waighty  secrets  might  be  given 
place — apart,  unseen,  such  divisions  shall  be  most  fine  and 
mdely  parted  as  is  noted  in  earlier  secret  epistles. 

Some  of  .my  letters  hide  that  story  that  giveth  me  f  arre 
more  deadly  paine  then  could  ought  else — ev'n  this  los  of 
honour  in  the  roiall  soveraigne,  his  eies — it  is  Lo.  Robert's 
untimely,  cruell  end.  It  hath  so  temper'd  the  hot  rush  of 
bloud  in  my  vaines  that  I  feel  myselfe  becomi'g  old  ere  it 
be  time.  It  is  the  one  thought  in  my  hours  of  day,  my 
onely  dreame  by  night,  for  there  was  my  owne  aide,  not 
to  him  but  to  my  mother,  th'  Queene,  which  hurteth  th' 
memorie  more  than  tongue  can  tel. 


160  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Yet  such  terrors  held  mee  that  I  could  not  realize  ought 
beyond  that  daie,  nor  did  I  beleeve  anie  such  curse  one 
half  soe  likely  of  lighting  sudenly  upon  th'  youthful  head 
of  my  hasty  Lord  of  Essex,  most  dear  to  th'  Queene,  as  it 
was  to  rest  for  aye  upon  my  pate.  Th'  event  of  th'  Earle's 
death  never  for  an  howre,  or  even  for  a  moment  seem'd 
posible  to  me  after  Kobert  stoopt  his  pride  to  send  our  proud 
mother  her  pledge — a  ring  given  as  if  in  doubt  some  great 
harm  might  ever  threaten,  altho'  neither  surely  tho't  it 
from  th'  Queene  his  evil  would  threat. 

It  was  long  enow,  in  truth  some  time  thereafter, 'ere 
this  fact  became  well  known.  Her  Ma.  coming  unto  th' 
knowledge  but  a  short  periode  ere  she  died.  After  our 
misguided  Queene's  last  murther,  however,  was  by  a  chance 
only  prevented,  it  was  freelie  bruited  everywhere.  It  was 
then  that  I  also  found  that  th'  most  preitous — yet,  by  his 
fortune,  trulie  valewlesse — token  came  short  of  its  de- 
sir'd  or  rather  intended  end.  My  owne  share  in  his  terrible 
triall,  you  at  least  as  my  faithful  discypherer  know,  but 
none  can  say  or  think  how  awful  the  memory,  burnt  upon 
heart,  braine,  and  soule  soe  deeply,  is  at  this  day  though 
the  time  be  long  past.  No  mishap  of  fate  or  evil  fortune 
which  hath  bef alne  me  of  late,  can  make  such  sad  impres- 
sion on  the  heart  as  this  unceasing  sorrowe;  and  of  all  joies 
possible  to  my  future,  none  is  to  mine  eager  spirit  soe  en- 
ticing as  my  earnest  hope  of  meeting  Robert  in  that  world 
of  blis  when  all  earth's  sorrowes  have  ended,  and  of  hear- 
ing my  greatest  evill-doing  by  his  word  forgiven. 

O  grant  our  request  Thou  infinitely  gracious  Father! 
As  our  Lord  was  crucified  that  we  might  live,  that  sin 
washed  in  his  bloud,  might  be  remitted,  blot  out  all  our 
transgressions.     Though  our  sinnes  be  as  scarlet  let  them 


IN  HISTORIA  VIT^  &  MORTIS.  161 

be  white  as  wooll.  As  farre  as  the  East  is  from  th'  West, 
as  height  is  from  depth,  so  farre  remove  wrong  from  our 
mindes  and  all  iniquity  from  our  hearts,  for  with  the  Lord 
is  mercj,  and  plenteous  redemption. 

This  work  of  my  hand  is  fully  prepar'd  to  put  foorth 
as  soon  as  fit,  this  Cypher  work  being  nearlie  ready  also, 
yet  this  is  by  no  means  all  that  hath  a  place  in  these  plannes 
that  I  made  at  divers  seasons  in  my  leasure — or  it  may  be, 
to  speak  according  to  the  facts — ^in  time  which  was  free 
from  officiall  duties,  since  I  have  not  found  leasure  in  many 
yeares  from  various  sorts  of  i'vention.  A  man  may  well 
finde  it  so  uselesse  a  word — in  my  position  and  circum- 
stances— ^that  he  could  doe  without  it,  except  if  it  please 
him  to  distinguish  betweene  diiferinge  works,  in  degrees 
and  also  in  kinde. 

One  such  work  will  be  partlie  put  forth  openly,  to  shew 
the  kind  and  style  of  th'  work,  partly  in  my  Word-Cyphar 
that  is  carefuUie  explain'd  in  many  places  to  afforde  my: 
discyph'rer  such  ayde  as  I  deem'd  to  be  necessary.  To  me 
it  is  probable,  that,  encourag'd  by  timelie  advice,  my  dil- 
ligent  decypherer  will  continue  this  work,  assisted  in  soe 
great  measure,  and  say  with  me  it  is  well  co'ceyved,  for, 
although  at  present  there  bee  few  inventions  of  a  like  kind 
known,  many  are  requir'd  in  th'  world,  and  may  have  place 
in  my  bookes  amongst  those  that  much  labour  may  yet 
make  perfect.  At  least  it  is  well  to  place  manie  things  with 
the  table  in  which  I  have  named  the  desiderata,  so  much 
benefit  may  soone  bee  derived  thence.  To  introduce  th' 
thought,  being  often  greater  actual  good  to  students,  as  to 
philosopher  in  fact,  then  to  write  out  a  most  thorough  and 
labor'd  theory,  it  is  advantageous  to  wdeld  a  free  penne,  to 
give  scope  and  strength  to  its  inve'tion. 


162  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

For  some  such  purpose  my  long  sought,  not  yet  sur- 
rendered, theorie  of  f amilie  or  patriarchdom  should  fence 
in  th'  degree  I  have  me'tion'd,  if  th'  losse  of  my  owne  sov- 
eraignty  teach  anie  people  a  modell  of  thorow,  just,  yet 
tender,  generous  and  kinde  unquestio'd  rule,  or  lead  men — 
young,  hopeful,  fond  o'  adventitious  joyes  of  new  discov- 
eries— ^forth  into  the  fields  of  limitlesse  possibilities. 

It  should  set  this  suffering,  mutinous,  ^vronged,  wounded 
spiritt  somewhat  at  rest  to  feel  this  truly  assured  to  my 
heart,  but  none  can  shewe  mine  eies  that  future  day — 
although  I  long  for  it  as  one  whose  life  is  waning  swiftlie, 
more  from  trouble  it  is  true  then  age,  yet  no  lesse  surelie 
is  it  wearing  to  its  end,  and  God's  hand  shall  add  that  word,, 
all  that  at  that  day  shal  be  wanting,  meerely  the  Finis  to 
say  that  the  soul  of  this  Prince  wins  loving  subjects  at  last 
in  Christ  his  kingdome. 

In  my  remaini'g  dayes, — or  many  like  our  forefathers' 
or  few, — whatever  is  meet  to  do  for  th'  benefit  of  posterity, 
to  promote  the  generall  improvement  of  mankind,  that 
would  I  do  in  all  places.  Some  experime'nts  that  were- 
made  before  King  Jas.  put  some  businesses  into  my  handes 
that  in  latter  dayes  are  lacking,  though  delicate  often  and 
wearisome,  receive  chiefly  my  unoccupied  moments,  when  no 
Cypher  is  in  hand,  for  nothing  is  more  benefit — or  at  least 
doth  put  a  man  in  a  way  sure  of  ayde  in  a  right  understand- 
ing of  "Nature's  lawes  more  readilie — then  Nature's  owne 
teachings.  Therefore  these  aydes  are  often  but  a  suggestion 
of  a  methode  of  inquirie  rather  then  th'  replie. 

A.  great  arte — to  finde  truths  which  JSTature's  hand 
guardeth  even  as  it  was  in  that  first  day  conceal'd — ^must  of 
necessitie  have  exercise  the  same  as  other  artes,  nor  must 
th'  inquirer  imagine  this  is  possible  without  th'  most  paines- 


IN  HISTORIA  VIT^  &  MORTIS.  163 

taking  work.  This  is  obvious  in  the  present  in  labour  I 
performe  every  day,  for  like  the  old  Israelites  who  served 
in  Egipt,  more  is  oft  requir'd  of  mee  then  to  make  the 
brick.  This  must  I  do  and  also  seeke  th'  strawe.  Let  it 
then  make  the  labour  seeme  lesse  irksome,  inasmuch  as  I 
have  long  told  many  a  tale  well  dried  and  ready  for  a  place, 
how  lowe  or  lofty  it  bee,  in  the  temple  walles. 

It  should  not,  however,  be  his  part  to  labour,  ev'n  to 
fatigue,  with  hand  and  braine.  Philosophers  have  need  of 
servitors  that  shall  prepare  the  waye  before,  like  the  fore- 
runners of  our  Saviour,  exalt  the  low  places,  th'  mountayns 
bring  downe,  th'  crooked  and  the  uneven  and  rough  make 
once  more  smoothe,  straight  and  plain,  since  their  labour 
is  to  some  degre  a  labour  di\dne  and  hath  for  end  and  ayme 
th'  advantaging  of  humanity,  but  as  the  work  is  in  bands 
and  cannot  in  our  day  bee:mention'd  'mongst  truelie  well 
understood  sciences,  you,  my  deciphrer,  cannot  know  hov; 
much  doth  appertayn  thereto  nor  th'  methods  by  which  my 
labours  have  bin  done.  I  put  much  good  and  thorough 
enquirie  in  my  taskes  and  th'  experiments  have  not  beene 
hastilie  made  nor  carelesselie  set  downe. 

Whosoever  may  reade  and  note  this  work  shall  keepe  on 
faithfuUie  in  this  way  which  I  mark'd  out  for  him,  but 
should  hee,  with  the  aide  that  I  afford  his  search — it  leadeth 
farre  on  to  other  and  wealthier  mines  of  truth  I  have  no 
doubt — make  farre  greater  discoveries  and  inventio's  ere 
he  shall  set  these  forth  in  triumphant  musicke,  let  some  note 
in  such  a  paean  bee  in  my  praise,  inasmuch  as  my  hand  long 
before  awaken'd  th'  sound  and  tuned  th'  instruments  that 
th'  musicke  might  bee  thus — though  th'  sounds  be  not  in 
th'  tuning  agreeable  or  pleasing  to  heare,  for  this  cause  the 
musicke  is  sweeter  afterwards.     Doe  not  treat  my  small 


164  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

request  as  an  idole  thought,  for  'tis  as  serious  as  anie  that  I 
have  placed  in  my  workes. 

In  th'  Holie  Word  of  Scripture  we  reade  that  a  workman 
is  worthy  of  his  wages,  and  I  accompte  this  my  reward.  As 
hope  of  Fame  is  onely  for  a  future,  howsoever  remote  this 
shal  be,  it  is  not  vanity  in  mee  to  make  this  request,  nor  do 
I  offer  apologie  to  anie  who  heare  and  see.  Sure  the  con- 
servation of  renowne  may  not  cause  wonder  since  much 
honour  that  is  my  due  may  for  aye  be  denied  me.  This 
must  be  true  if  none  have  understood,  I  place  my  joylesse 
story  herein — ^yes  joylesse  and  sad  indeede,  yet  true,  and 
in  a  history  nothing  but  the  last  proprietie  hath  waight. 
Then,  too,  co'sta'tly  in  mind  is  th'  proude  hope  that  my 
owne  kinde  friend  wil  f olow  me  thus  f axre  in  th'  work.  To 
him  the  title  Baron,  also  Viscount,  is  without  doubte  known 

and  my  right  to  Eex.  . 

F. 


SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS. 

1623  FOLIO. 

*You  will  either  finde  the  guides  or  be  last  -in  the 

labyrinth.     Every  one  of  my  great  dramaticall  writings, 

severall  other  workes — my  New  Organ,  the  second  part 

of  my  Instauration,   my  New  Atlantis,    (some  parts  of 

which  I  much  desire  you  to  write  from  my  philosophicall 

papers)  and  the  part  of  the  Sylva  Sylvarum  (a  Naturall 

Historic  that  I  designe  to  leave  as  it  is),  my  Historie  of 

Henry   the   Sevent,   as   well   as  my  workes  of   science, 

containe  in  the  last  ten  pages  of  the  papers,  rules  that 

tell  how  to  work  out  the  great  word  Cipher.     Keep  at 

work.  , 

FR.  ST.  ALBAN. 

*Any  person  using  here  the  bi-literall  Cipher,  will  find 

a  rule  to  be  followed  when  writing  the  hidden  letters  in 

which  are  Histories,  Comedies,  Tragedies;  a  Pastorall  of 

the  Christ;  Homer's  epics  and  that  of  Virgil,  which  are 

fully  render'd  in  English  poetry;  the  completion  of  my 

JSTew  Atlantis;  Greene's  Life;  Story  of  Marlowe;  the  two 

secret  epistles  (expressely  teaching  a  Cipher  now  for  the 

first    time    submitted,    doubtfully,    for    examination    and 

studie,  by  any  who  may  be  sufficiently  curious,  patient, 

or   industrious);    part  of   Thyrsis   (Virgile's   Eclogues); 

Bacchantes,  a  Fantasie;  Queene  Elizabeth's  Life  (as  never 

before  truely  publisht);  a  Life  of  the  Earl  of  Essex,  and 

my  owne. 

FR.  LORD  VERULAM. 


*Heming  and  CondeU.  *Be''  Jonson. 

165 


166  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

^Francis  of  Yerulam  is  author  of  all  the  plays  hereto- 
fore published  by  Marlowe,  Greene,  Peele,  Shakespeare, 
and  of  the  two-and-twenty  now  put  out  for  the  first  time. 

Some  are  alter'd  to  continue  his  history. 

F.  ST.  A. 

*Search  for  keyes,  the  headings  of  the  Comedies. 

FRANCIS  BARON  OF  VERULAM. 

*As  I  sometimes  place  rules  and  directions  in  other 

Ciphers,  you  must  seeke  for  the  others  soone  to  aide  in 

writing. 

FR.  OF  Ve. 

*Queen6  Elizabeth  is  my  true  mother,  and  I  am  the 

lawfuU  heire  to  the  throne.     Finde  the  Cypher  storie  my 

bookes  containe;  it  tells  great  secrets,  every  one  of  which 

(if  imparted  openly)  would  forfeit  my  life. 

F.  BACON. 

*Francis  St.  Alban,  descended  from  the  mighty  heroes 
of  Troy,  loving  and  revering  these  noble  ancestors,  hid 
in  his  writings  Homer's  lUiads  and  Odyssey  (in  Cipher), 
with  the  ^neid  of  the  noble  Virgil,  prince  of  Latin  poets, 
inscribing  the  letters  to  Elizabeth,  R.  , 

*Fr.  Bacon  is  the  author,  unknown  among  men  as  such. 
He  in  this  way,  and  in  his  Cypher  workes,  gives  full 
directions,  in  a  great  many  places,  for  finding  and  unfold- 
ing of  severall  weightie  secrets,  hidden  from  those  who 
would  persecute  the  betrayer,  yes,  even  take  a  person's 
life.  Then  take  care  that  he  be  not  endangered  by  your 
zeal. 

Reade  easy  lessons  first,  and  forsooth  the  Absey  in  the 
Life  and  Death  of  King  John,  act  one,  is  a  good  one;  it 
shewes  the  entrance  to  a  labyrinth.  Court  Time,  a  sure 
leader,  and  proceed  to  his  Alphabet  of  Nature.  Learne 
well  two  portions,  Masses,  and  the  Rule.  Search  this  out. 
J F.  B. 

*L.  Diggs.  *I.  M.  *Actors'  Names.  *Catalogue  of  Plays. 

♦Prologue  to  Trollus  and  Cresslda.  *Headings  of  Comedies. 


IN  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.  167 

This  letter  tells  you  how  to  produce  my  most  highly 
estimated  unpublish'd  labours  of  to-day,  and  I  beg  you 
try  to  understand  it. 

Go  as  I  direct,  but  finde  each  subtile  signe,  that 
silentlie  like  fingers,  shewes  your  waye.  Actus  primus. 
King  John,  gives  th'  epistle's  first  wordes,  near  the  word 
Absey  already  familiar  to  you.  Join  these  plays  to  Fr. 
Bacon's  Novum  Organum:  but  other  plays  must  shed  their 
light  in  so  wonderous  a  Cipher:  none  may  be  found  if  my 
work  be  lost. 

Seek  not  meerelie  to  read  foure  Cyphers,  (for  you 
should  find  six  in  all,  which  I  coppy  here,  in  full,  to  direct 
students  how  they  should  work  out  my  greatest  Invention) 
which  you  shall  take  as  I  direct  you: — ^this  is  first:  that 
Clowne  in  the  play  who  speaks  of  the  plantan  leafe,  is 
a  wise  man — here  Art  outruns  that  grub  Nature:  hunt 
out  this  Cipher,  or  anagram,  at  once:  now  finde  a  number 
in  my  King  Henrie  the  Sevent  correspo'ding  to  this  (i.  e., 
the  same  kinde  or  style),  next  add  the  plaies  of  Twelfe 
Night  or  What  You  Will,  and  Love's  Labour's  Lost;  you 
will  finde  here  capitalls  in  two  formes,  it  is  your  next:  the 
face  of  my  clock  comes  -fourth:  my  symbols  are  next: 
and  the  six^  is  what  all  shewes — ^my  great  Cipher  of 
Ciphers. 

Every  letter,  save  the  epics  of  Virgill  and  Homer,  is 

dedicated  to  yourselfe. 

FR.  BACON. 

♦ 

*My  reason  for  using  my  translated  stories  to  teach 
this  Cipher  is  this:  I  wish  to  get  my  Cypher  into 
students'  curricula.  You  should  do  this  worke  by  my 
rules,  and  seeke  for  the  keyes  in  the  playes.     First  finde 

♦Headings  of  the  Histories. 


168  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

the  gods  Jove,  Pluto,  Apollo,  Yulcan,  Minerva,  Juno  and 
Neptune,  but  do  not  omit  any  Nymphe :  add  Greek  heroes, 
Bome  captives;  Dreams;  the  Sacred  Isles;  Chryses,  Apollo's 
priest;  some  Trojans;  the  names  of  townes  in  Greece  and 
Asia  Minor;  some  parts  also  of  Europe  neare  the  Helles- 
pont and  the  ^gseum:  you  can  now  write  the  first  two 
bookes.     Thus  begin: 

O  Goddess,  sing  of  the  destructive  wrath 
Of  fierce  Achilles,  Peleus'  worthy  sonne. 

Thus  continue  in  Iambi,  with  verses  similar  to  the  lines 
above,  taken  from  their  hiding  places  in  the  bookes  I  have 
published;  ill  worth  Homer's  name,  less  musicall  than 
the  Greeke,  I  still  thinke  it  worthy  of  preservation  and  a 
measure  of  honour.  Search  all  places  in  which  I  have 
put  my  keyes.  Near  words  like  Jovus,  Hera, — Syno- 
nymes,  as  well  as  all  the  derivatives  from  these  wordes — 
are  the  sectiones  of  the  translation. 

Keepe  lines,  though  somewhat  be  added  to  Homer:  in 
fact,  it  might  be  more  truely  Homeric  to  consider  it  a 
poeme  of  the  times,  rather  than  a  historic  of  true  events. 
For  this  good  and  sufficient  reason,  the  translation  should 
be  in  the  forme  of  verse.  I  use  English  Heroick  verse, 
usually  paying  but  small  heede  to  rime,  like  as  you  may 
see  in  my  playes,  yet  in  my  other  verse,  rime  being  indis- 
pensable, and  sometimes, — as  in  the  closing  line  in  each 
stanzo  of  the  epics  of  the  so  cal'd  E.  Spenser, — the  feete 
being  too  numerous,  you  may  do  as  to  you  seems  to  be 
juste  and  propper. 

In  all  places,  be  heedfull  of  the  meaning,  but  do  not 
consider  the  order  of  the  words  in  the  sentences.  I  should 
joine  my  examples  and  rules  together,  you  will  say.     So  I 


IN  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.  169 

will.  In  the  Faerie  Queene,  booke  one,  canto  two,  sec- 
ond and  third  lines  of  the  seventh  stanzo,  thus  speaking 
of  Aurora,  write: 

Wearie  of  aged  Tithones  saffron  bed, 

Had  spreade,  through  dewy  ayre  her  purple  robe. 

Or  in  the  eleventh  canto,  booke  two,  five-and-thirtieth 
stanzo,  arrange  the  matter  thus,  to  relate  in  verse  the  great 
attacke  at  the  ships,  at  that  pointe  of  time  at  which  the 
great  Trojan  took  up  a  weighty  missile,  the  gods  giving 
strength  to  the  hero's  arme:  it  begins  in  the  sixt  verse: 

There  lay  thereby  an  huge  greate  stone,  which  stood 
Upon  one  end,  and  had  not  many  a  day 
Removed  beene — a  signe  of  sundrie  wayes — 
This  Hector  snatch 'd,  and  with  exceeding  sway.  . . . 

It  is  an  ensample,  and  the  instructions  are  so  cleare,  I  do 
not  think  you  can  follow  scent  so  well  as  a  hound,  if  you 
unkennell  not  the  fox. 

Seeke  the  keyes  untill  all  bee  found.  Turne  Time  into 
an  ever  present,  faithfull  companion,  friend,  guide,  light, 
and  way.  For  he  who  seeks  an  entrance  here,  must  be 
furnished  in  that  manner  aforesaid.  All  my  names  I  use 
as  my  fingers,  to  shewe  which  worke  to  join  by  means  of 
the  signes,  which  you  so  ofte'  have  seen  in  divers  of  my 
other  workes.  I  am  secretlie  enscheduling  worthie  guides, 
which  shew  the  path,  and  keyes  this  lock  to  turne. 

j^ow  match  to  these,  when  you  hunt  them  out,  all 
Grseco-English  wordes,  i.  e.,  wordes  that  are  not  yet  com- 
pleatlie  made  English.  Keepe  my  rules  so  carefully  im- 
pressed upon  your  mind  in  all  cases,  that  you  bee  not  ledd 
aside;  for  one  who  taketh  the  right  waye,  if  he  will  push 


170  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

on,  will  win  the  goale,  the  lawrell  garland,  and  the  ap- 
plause and  praises  of  the  multitude:  do  not,  therefore, 
tume  your  steps  to  the  left,  nor  to  the  right,  nor  trace  the 
roade  backward.  Keepe  your  eies  ever  fixt  on  the  goal, 
and  presse  onward  as  I  bid.  I  will  make  it  a  delightsome 
way,  trust  me,  aye,  ev'n  as  the  milk-white  path  of  high 
Jove  on  blew  Olympus'  summit. 

Pursue,  with  caution,  every  devious  way,  never  forget- 
ting to  retire  back,  before  the  chief  highwaye  be  lost  to 
sight.  It  is  by  such  means  that  events,  (and  many  a  fabu- 
lous deede  of  the  gods  and  heroes)  remotelie  appertinent 
to  the  Iliads  are  related,  while  you  this  winding  labyrinthe 

trace  out. 

FR.  B. 

*You  are  now  come  to  the  Catalogue.  It  cannot  be  done 
as  you  have  in  the  previous  story  of  not  too  unusual  actions 
and  events.  It  is  divided  into  small  parts,  as  you  will 
observe,  which  are  so  widely  scatter'd  in  my  writings,  you 
should  keepe  my  most  common  rule  alway  in  this  work; 
also  keepe  the  order  of  the  Greek  in  your  translation. 

F.  B. 

To  these  keyes  now  add  Strife,  Terror,  Fortitude,  Pur- 
suit, Din,  Friendship;  the  ^gis;  the  remainder  of  th' 
Olympian  gods;  the  Eiver  gods;  the  Simois  also  the  Sca- 
mander;  with  the  many  heralds.  Sleep,  Iris,  also  Mercury; 
Death  and  the  Fates,  all  clouds,  Chimseras,  winds.  Day, 
Night,  and  sweete  Aurora;  the  Hours,  who  open  Jove's 
gates;  besides  the  Muses,  Graces  (who  wait  upon  Yenus,  or 
attend  on  the  fire-robed  Sun-deity),  and  Furies,  lightning, 
thunder;  Juno's  birds,  Venus'  doves,  Jove's  eagle;  Cen- 

♦Headings  of  the  Tragedies. 


IN  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.  171 

taurs,  steeds,  chariots,  lions,  serpents,  with  many  other 
words  which  you  ought  also  to  keepe  near  bye  in  readinesse 
for  use. 

Dub  yourself  as  Knight  of  the  Golden  lies,  and  set  out 
in  quest  of  great  deeds,  grande  triumphs,  and  Fortune's 
golden  meede:  your  Honour  will  grow  in  lustre  as  you 
show  forth  the  brigh'tness  of  your  Nature;  so  also,  shall 
your  Reputation  be  as  jewels,  and  your  Truth  as  precious 
stones,  which  Art  has  made  of  exceeding  worthe,  beautie, 
delightsomeness  and  estimation,  and  Time  harmeth  not. 

You  will  now  find  some  wordes  with  a  key,  that  tell  the 
manner  of  joining  parts.  All  workes  do  not  give  rules,  as 
in  most  of  my  playes;  but  my  poemes,  plays,  portions  of 
prose,  and  of  the  numerous  Latin  and  Greeke  translations, 
also  the  stanzas  of  Italian  Iambi  are  composed  so  well  that 
you  could  not,  if  you  would,  go  astray.  When  the  partes 
are  separated,  put  all  matter  of  like  kinde  together  in 
boxes,  which  have  been  so  marked  with  keies  and  joining- 
wordes  that  you  may  follow  the  plans  with  ease,  not  care- 
full  for  the  outcome,  since  I  am  Architect,  you  the  Master- 
builder:  yours  is  the  hand  that  shall  erect  the  temple, 
when  you  shall  bring  to  a  selected  place  the  fairest  stones 
which  you  can  finde,  and  cedar-wood  hewed  and  shaped, 
so  that  you  could  raise  towards  heaven  my  Solomon's  Pal- 
lace,  and  nowhere  be  heard  either  ax,  or  hammer,  pr  any 
instrument  of  iron,  as  you  put  them  in  place.  How  won- 
derfuU  its  beautie,  no  mortall  eye  hath  seen. 

PR.  ST.  ALBAN. 

*As  apt  children  have  their  dailie  taskes,  so  also  in  this 
hardest  of  employes,  a  dailie  burthen  is  laid  on  ev'ry  hand; 
honres  manie,  as  free  as  mortall  can  desire,  are  e'er  jewels 

♦The  Tempest. 


172  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

beyond  price;  yet,  in  this,  an  eager  minde  can  find  a  dark 
chapter's  chiefe  motif,  by  thus  most  honorably  and 
shrewdly  using  his  moments  of  solitude  and  ease. 

The  Tragedy  of  Macbeth  must  be  added  to  this,  then 
joine  Edward  the  Second.  As  these  are  carefully  con'd, 
many  of  Nature's  writing  are  to  be  read,  and  a  rule  to  fit 
or  join,  now  that  of  one  name,  now  others,  making  a  story, 
in  plays,  which  shewes  that  sin  of  my  despis'd,  (yet 
royall  and  also  loyal)  friends,  Essex,  who  is  my  brother, 
and  our  most  lovely  parent,  Queene  Elizabeth ;  the  tragedie 
of  his  murther;  an  historic  of  my  owne  life;  the  storie  of 
my  share  i'  th'  triall  of  my  brother;  my  owne  downfall, 
with  many  such. 

IS^ow  joine  King  Lear,  King  John,  Romeo  and  Juliet, 
sixtie-two  lines  of  The  Life  of  King  Henry  Eight,  partes 
of  such  other  as  you  need — my  rules  dissipate  all  uncer- 
tainty. More  prose  must  stande  in  this  part  of  your 
Cypher  work,  then  has  been  used  to  relate  my  stories. 

Plays  are  by  no  meanes  alwaies  verse,  therefore  have  I 
put  a  chain  linking  together  by  keies  my  speac^es:  those 
in  Henry  Seventh,  are  now  many  lines  in  excesse ;  and  all, 
or  much,  upon  the  claiming  Henrie's  crowne  is  to  be 
altered.  You  will  finde  that  historic  repeats  itseKe  in  this, 
and  that' my  owne  story  here  given,  has  much  that  is  simi- 
lar to  the  claime  Warbeck  made,  yet  also  differing,  inas- 
much as  his  had  so  false  premises:  but  I  was  Elizabeth's 
son,  by  her  wedded  Lord,  elder  brother  to  Robert,  the 
Earle  of  Essex,  who  raised  a  rebellion  to  obtaine  his  owne 
mother's  kingdome,  despite  all  other  and  prior  rights. 

As  hunted  deer  awaite  death  at  every  moment,  so  I,  at 
bale,  had  an  hourly  feare  in  both  my  brother's  affects,  and 
the  hate  and  ill-intents  of  our  mother  and  Cecil. 


IN  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.  173 

*When  you  match  :Macbeth  with  Tempest,  it  is  to  be 
observ'd,  in  the  deciphering,  how  like  is  join'd  with  like — 
conspiracie  in  each.  Note  in  Tempest  the  directions,  and 
do  as  I  have  done. 

You  can  follow  my  playes,  as  true  keys,  in  most  com- 
pleate  succession,  unlocke  the  closed  doors  of  this  secret 
chamber,  in  which  are  caskets  like  to  that  which  Alexan- 
der found,  and  wherein  I  hide,  likewise,  mine  own  bookes, 
as  well  as  honor'd  Homer,  his  verses. 

Search,  seeke  out  a  secret,  imparted  to  no  living  person 
except  Mother  Bacon,  mine  earlie  friend  and  true,  the 
woman  who  saved  me  from  my  furious,  owne  mother  by 
rare  devices.  I  was  as  a  brat,  or  waift,  the  girle  throwes 
from  all  eies  to  save  her  fortunes  and  name. 

Hate  is  juste,  in  him  who  is  made  prey  to  th'  ills  which 
do  fall  even  upon  a  babe  most  innocuous,  if  love  is  not 
waking  as  he  sleeps.  Even  then  was  I  taken  forth,  stript 
naked,^th'  thinn  soft  bands  a  childe  should  feele,  a  rough- 
spun  woolen  robe  replaced.  None  saw  or  pitied  my  harsh, 
unkinde,  accursedly  cruel  usage;  yet  my  mother  was  a 
wedded,  honorable,  and  most  royall  woman:  her  will  is 
then  the  single  bar  between  F.  Saint  Alban  and  a  sceptre. 

Take  this  play,  and  to  it  match  that  of  Marlowe,  i.  e., 
Edward  the  Second.  Note  a  hidden  lesson  in  Marlowe's 
multi — or  rather  double — form  tipe,  for  it  tells  when  other 
plays  take  forward  my  work. 

In  my  worthy  mind  is  a  better,  a  broader,  a  more  farr- 
renowned  and  farre-famous'd  kingdom.  Deny  the  imposed 
gift  we  truely  would,  in  hot  anger,  but  love  is  so  great  a 
requitall  of  wrong,  the  anger  in  the  humane  heart  is  seen 
a  fire-eyed  Furie's  child,  turned  from  a  region  of  Nox  and 

♦Macbeth. 


174  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

her  compeeres,  and  then  we  controule  our  passio's.     My 

love  for  Marguerite  was  the  spirit  which  saved  my  soul 

from  hatred,  and  fro  vilde  passio's. 

F.  B. 

*Search  this  for  a  more  awefull  act  then  all  modern, 
■  middle,  and  most  farre-ofi  o'  all  farre-distante  times  has 
revealed.  It  tells  that  sad,  awefull  story  of  an  act  which 
will  poison  my  morning-sunrise,  sunsett,  the  evening  soft- 
nes,  nightes  darke  heavie  houres,  and  make  the  world  bit- 
ter to  the  end:  it  is  my  brother's  cruel,  foull  ending. 

Studie  Time's  rule:  kin  is  set  by  kin,  like  is  joyn'd  to 
like.  Recall  to  minde  the  play  which  matcht  to  this,  will 
-compleate  the  scene  of  torture — King  John.  When  this 
is  done,  a  most  sad,  heavie  story,  in  form  o'  a  play,  is  told. 
Be  dilligent  therefore,  and  give  heede.  Attempt  by  all 
odds,  worke  purposed  for  proud  R.  Cecill's  record,  to  cast 
his  woven  and  treacherous  plots  into  view. 

Use  every  wind  to  fill  your  great  sails,  hanging  now  so 
empty.  Idle  no  morn's  golden  houres  away,  nor  even,  nor 
night  lighted  by  moones  pallid  and  soft  beames;  sail  on, 
and  fetch  treasures  Time  will  make  more  and  richer.  Moth 
can  ruin  th'  royall  vestments — the  glitt'ring  crowne  rust 
may  corrode — no  such  action  ere  shall  harme  my  gems' 
golden,  art-enchas'd  rigoll. 

Next  you  must  write  a  simple  history  or  story  of  those 
two  men,  with  more  of  their  subtle  actes  apparent.  They 
were  my  worst,  aye,  my  onely  foes.  Read  of  some  overt 
insolence,  acts  so  wicked,  such  violent  deeds,  I  had  a  just 
fear,  if  imployed  doing  that  [which]  Fate  (or  whatsoever 
power  driving  me)  causes  me  to  do,  my  enemie  construed 
to  come  from  my  primary  resorte,  a  predominant  desire  to 

*King  Lear. 


IN  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.  175 

be  endued  with  a  royalty-robe,  as  a  mark  imprest  to  set  the 
seal  upon  my  rights,  by  virtue  of  my  birth.  Upon  every 
occasion  they  were  mindfull  of  my  where'bouts.  I 
coulde  finde  the  path  to  Olympus,  however,  wing  waie  with 
Muse  t'  sing  high  paeons,  farre  from  the  murmur  of  their 
envy  and  spite. 

Their  power  I  did  evade.  This  duty  so  munified  a 
brain,  a  heart,  farre  remote  and  seeking  to  reach  the  deep- 
est depths  of  knowledge,  that  I  followe  my  main  worke. 
Attempts  fail  which  a  tireless  enemy  doth  so  tume — hate's 
minister  of  harm  most  truely  doth  good,  not  ill,  to  my 
sundrie*  devices  and  designs. 

It  must  now  bee  left  in  this  forme,  for  a  trite,  though 
true,  simple  story,  may  not  be  used  t'  form  this  kind  of  a 
play,  and  I  have  arranged  it  in  plain  prose,  but  I  hope  you 
will  gain  knowledge  thereby.  If  this  part  be  read,  it 
makes  my  method  of  word-signes  clear,  and  anie  carefull 
painstaker  who  doth  inquire  here,  will  undoe  my  mistery. 

I  have  many  single  livres  prepar'd  for  my  deare  Mar- 
guerite; one  is  in  these  other  historicall  playes,  and  in  the 
play,  Jas.  Fourth,  of  R.  Greene.  It  is  her  own  true  love 
story  in  the  French,  and  I  have  placed  many  a  cherish'd 
secret  in  the  little  loving  wortheless  books:  they  were  kept 
for  her  wishes  to  finde  some  lovelie  reader  in  future 
-5]]ones.  A  part  of  the,  one  I  place  in  my  owne  historic, 
lives  so  pure  no  amorous  soilure  taints  the  faire  pages. 

So  fair  was  she,  no  eyes  ere  look'd  upon  such  a  beau- 
teous mortall,  and  I  saw  no  other.  I  saw  her — French 
Eve  to  their  wondrous  paradise — as  if  no  being,  no  one  in 
all  high  heav'n's  wide  realm,  save  onlie  this  one  Mar- 
guerite, did  ever  exist,  or  in  this  nether  world,  ever,  in  all 

♦King  John. 


176  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

the  ages  to  be  in  the  infinity  of  time,  might  be  created. 
But  there  came  in  days,  close  in  the  reare,  when  I  would 
fain  have  lived  my  honor'd  days  in  this  loving-wise,  ruin 
worthy  husband's  hopes,  and  manie  a  vision,  had  there  bin 
onlye  one  single  Adam  therein, — which  should  be,  and 
was  not,  solely  myselfe. 

Join  Eomeo  with  Troy's  famous  Cressida,  if  you  wish 
to  know  my  story.  Cressida  in  this  play,  with  Juliet, — * 
both  that  one  in  the  Comedy,  where  she  first  doth  enter 
as  Claudio's  lady,  and  the  one  of  my  Tragedy  just  given, — 
are  my  love,  whose  minde  changed  much  like  a  fickle 
dame's. 

Years  do  nere  pay  his  sin's  paine-boughten  bond  in 
man,  or  take  paine  from  the  remembrance  ever  keene  with 
the  ignomy  which  this  fickle  ladie  put  upon  dumbe,  blind, 
deafe,  unthinking  and  unsuspicious  lovers. 

This  is  tolde  plainly  in  my  story.  Ever  kind,  true  in 
houre  o'  neede  as  in  that  of  pleasure,  I  suffer'd  most  cruell 
torments  in  mind.  Thus  Trojan  Cresid',  Troylus  did  en- 
snare, and  the  words  his  sadd  soule  speaks  do  say  to  you 
that  his  ill-successe,  and  that  I  did  have,  will  here  be  told, 
such  oneness  was  in  his  sorrowfull  hap  and  mine.  This 
makes  the  next  parte. 

Often  mid  a  waste  appeare  many  purest  water-rises.  I 
found  a  pure  cup  which  nature's  prettiest  dales  do  form, 
filled  to  its  brim  as  with  Nepenthe :  this  I  drank,  and  so  in 
time  I  did  shuffle  off  my  old  amour.  Study  in  this  wide 
realm  tells  many  usefull  truths:  Time  reveals  matter  long 
held  in  darknesse  amid  this  very  frank  gift,  an  inheritance 
which  is  farre  greater  than  manie  a  wide  realme  of  earthlie 
power. 

♦Romeo  and  Juliet 


IN  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.  177 

These  plays  contain  my  early  history.  Conjoine  the 
part  of  my  other  great  plaie  named  when  I  gave  you  this 
taske,  Julius  Cjesar,  Henry  the  Eight,  Fift  and  Fourth, 
.  just  as  I  put  them  here,  i.  e.,  in  this  order,  to  make  the 
plays,  whereof  events  of  such  importancy,  and  of  so  great 
accompte  do  make  up  the  plots,  my  best  Cipher  was  given 
to  a  revelation  of  them, — I,  ["ay"]  events  so  false,  set 
down  in  waiting  by  my  wicked  mother,  that  none  have 
wills  so  strong  as  to  finde  out  the  state  of  any  kind  of  illes 
which  is  laid  by  for  the  good  opportunitie.  The  oppor- 
tunities are  at  this  Queene's  orders,  therefore  not  scene,  if 
it  so  gratifie  Elizabeth. 

IN'eretheless  my  labour  must  bring  villainie  unto  just 
punition,  give  the  full  name  of  the  one  who  is  heir  appar- 
ent *  to  this  kingdom,  put  to  rightes  the  most  important 
records  of  these  lands,  with  much  hard  bought  truth,  and 
turne  from  the  lees,  or  rack  a  flagon  of  a  red  wine,  the 
which,  running  cold,  sendes  icie  chilles  into  my  soule;  ay, 
crudled  blood  this  wine  proves,  if  you  see  the  cuppe  run- 
ning ore  in  that  soft  white  hand,  and  'tis  as  from  this  life 
of  my  veines,  indeed. 

And  truly  you  shall  not  thinke  or  intimate  to  men,  that 
the  life  of  my  onely  born  brother  could  be  more  dear  to 
some  rufian  officer,  or  rugg-headed  wild  Irishman  than  to 
my  my  heart:  but  man  has  at  all  times. a  love  still  larger 
for's  own  life;  e.  g.  in  God's  owne  book  you  do  find  many 
such  a  Scripture.  You  may  thus  see  man's  heart  loveth  the 
life  here  better — vaine  as  it  is — ene  then  eternitie,  and  if 
I  did  prize  life  as  do  most  men,  it  may  scarce  be  deemed  a 
wante  of  courage  and  of  honour. 

When  you  have  found  the  larger  story  hidden  in  my 
workes,  you  may  see  many  things  in  an  unnoted  and  yet 

*Trolius  and  Cressida. 


178  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OP  FRANCIS  BACON. 

not  unnaturall  relation.  Join  Othello,  and  Life  of  Richard 
Second:  then  Anthony  and  Cleopatra,  Cymbeline,  Hamlet, 
Richard  the  Third,  Timon,  and  Edward  First,  placing  the 
same  in  this  order. 

A  great  quarto  in  which  you  will  finde  Richard  the 
Second,  has  none  of  my  letter  or  epistolic  story  in  the 
titles:  also  a  part  of  a  Cipher  play,  with  this  most  heavie 
tragedie,  and  a  full  just  accompt  therein  of  all  the  secret 
reasons  which  conduc'd  to  it,  is  wanting;  but  my  Folio  has 
no  part  omitted,  and  the  Cypher  is  in  many  of  later  date 
than  Essex'  crudest  torture,  for  the  true  rend'ring  of  his 
history.  You  must  put  your  time  on  the  same,  lest  these 
more  valued  workes  receive  a  lesse  share  of  a  worke-howr 
than  manie  stories  that  were  meere  tales  for  boys,  put 
beside  the  plaie  that  I  here  name  A  Tragicall-History, 
since  the  story  is  that  of  Essex,  in  his  dark  end. 

Kings  must  have  some  happy  guard  as  firm  of  heart, 
and  ene  so  strongly  furnisht  forth  to  war,  j'ust,  turney,  or 
other  kind  of  battel  as  ancient  Alexander,  his  picked 
guards.  Failing  of  his  helpers,  that  would-bee  king  was 
held  for  trial  for  treaso',  co'demn'd,  made  to  tell  his  ambi- 
tious designes,  tortured, — for  in  the  prison,  vilde  men,  his 
keepers,  by  arts  more  pitichie-hued  than  hell,  having  ob- 
tain'd  a  permittance  to  cause  paine  sufficiente  to  burst  the 
scale  upon  the  lipps  of  maddened  Essex,  with  burning  irons 
put  out  both  lovelie  eyes, — then  coldly  executed. 

No  tale  of  ages  before  our  blessed  Saviour  suffer'd  such 
death,  has  one  halfe  the  woe  of  this.  Ev'n  the  barbarians 
of  anie  age,  would  burn  men  to  cinders  lesse  murth'rously. 

O  God!  forgiveness  cometh  fro'  Thee.  Shut  not  this 
truest  book,  my  God;  shut  out  my  past — ^love's  little  sunny 


IN  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.  179 

hour,  if  it  soe  please  Thee,  and  some  of  man's  worthy  work, 
yet  Essex's  tragedy  here  shew  forth:  then  posterity  shall 
know  him  truly. 

Read  well  your  many  rules  which  shall  tend  to  a  speedie 
accrument  of  matter,  to  be  correctly  oppos'd  to  severall 
simple  signes  or  marks.  In  these  subtile  waies  I  shew 
when  many  plaies  are  to  supplie  the  matter,  and  also  whe' 
a  few  will  tell  much.  The  most  of  my  keys  are  words 
like  some  portion  of  the  play,  such  as  dead,  death,  dye,  or 
dying,  kill  and  murth'rous  torture  when  the  scene  of  mur- 
ther  is  work'd.  The  *first  were  what  I  most  use,  if  I  speak 
of  mine  only  bom  brother  Essex,  such  common  words  that 
few  suspect  my  volumes  had  simply  hidden  the  chiefe  of 
the  untold  story. 

Your  keies  must  shew  you  how  I,  by  this  new  method 
use  my  invention.  Sure  boundes  are  thus  set,  or  traces 
showing  them. 

As  in  your  lists  you  compleatly  subdue  by  skill,  so  must 
other  sundry  hot  [contests]  be  out-fought,  but  no  true 
pow'r  should  impropriate  moe  then  is  just.  True  you  do 
look  most  calmly  upon  my  loss  from  a  safe  distance,  yet  to 
me  the  injurie  never  can  be  repaired. 

You  will  finde  them  in  most  every  other  work  1  have 
used.  This  may  not  apply  in  date,  or  events,  I  grant.  It 
gives  most  publickly  such,  as  all  other  ladies  whom  Queene 
E — used  in  Essex'  undoing;  his  well-seen  youths  with  stur- 
dieness  like  to  the  men's,  wreaking  'pon  all  their  pitiless 
vengeance  with  many  a  warm  hand  steep'd  as  in  wine,  so 
red  in  crimson  gore. 

It  did  behoove  me  to  be  wary,  yet  for  my  Prince  Eobert 
I    took    desperate    hurts.     As  the  danger  many  hundred 

♦Julius  Caesar. 


180  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

times  verified  fear  of  our  old  compeeres,  with  an  angry 
heart,  I  ofte  saw  Essex  summon  in  minio's  to  sit  in  halles 
of  judgement,  in  whose  hands  his  very  life  was  in  peril. 
He  would  tume  from  the  wisest  wordes  of  hundreds,  ruled 
by  the  hardy  sons  England  so  lov'd. 

Losses  unthought  of,  hpst^  of  hamperers  where  he  had 
put  boldest  confidence  that  most  loyall  helpers  would  sus- 
tai'  him,  with  his  hasty  measures,  much  weaker  troopes, 
as  wel  as  a  most  utter  want  of  anie  true,  indubitate  rem- 
nant of  every  king's  whole  right,  i.  e.,  simple  honor,  I 
know,  were  the  controulers  which  made  his  fate  certaine. 

You  will  need  but  my  easily  leai^ned  keies  to  follow  any 
lost  thrids  i'  the  plays, — the  Life  of  Essex  in  the  form  of 
prose,  two  stage-plays,  and  a  story  that  has  a  part  of  his 
worst  factionall  effort's  failure, — many  that  I  name  in  an 
unpublished  story;  some  you  will  find  in  a  play  out  of 
print.  I  published  it  in  Peele's  workes.  The  earliest 
plays  that  had  my  brother's  first  youth  as  the  times,  and 
the  many  though  not  so  rare  (so  early),  unpublisht  yet  in 
any  forme  except  that,  name  Greene  as  the  author.  This 
is  but  my  author-name  t'  hide  *  my  owne.  It  serveth  also 
as  a  guard,  as  none  such  will  be  lost  in  future  ages. 

Yon  will  finde  more  o'  history  in  such  works,  but  much 
of  Homer's  great  poem.  It  more  chiefly  makes  up  my 
delightsome  Hiren  the  Faire  Greeke, — a  stage-play  I  pub- 
lished in  Peele's  name, — and  also  my  Dido,  my  tragedy  of 
Titus,  many  poems,  A  Tale  of  Troy,  Ventis  and  Adonis, 
Jonson's  Masks,  and  much  of  Marlowe's  translation  of 
Lucan,  of  Hero  and  Leander,  and  the  Faerie-Queene, 
Sheapherd's  Calendar — which  now  bear  only  Spenser's 
marks — Ovid's  Elegies,  and  also  the  Rape  of  Lucreece,  all 

•Henry  the  Eigbth. 


IN  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.  181 

Greene's  wanton  versee — those  mixt  poem-prose  stori's,  wit- 
tilie  having  for  our  purpose  Achilles  or  others  as  heroes — 
especially  Pandosto,  Arraignment  o'  Paris,  (the  one  last 
named  was  published  as  Peele's  play),  Menaphon,  Orlando 
Furioso,  Marlowe's  Tamburlaine,  Dr.  Faustus,  with  Troy- 
lufl,  (the  story  of  his  life — except  as  you  have  it  given  you 
as  a  part  of  some  passage  in  th'  sorry  story  of  mine  earlie 
fond  love  for  rare  Eve,  French  Eve,  first,  worst,  loveliest 
upon  the  face  o'  this  earth,  th'  beauteous  Margaret — and 
his  chief  exploits  i'  th'  battailos  outside  the  walls  o'  Troy) 
King  of  Arragon,  King  Henry  th'  Sixt,  Battail  of  Alcazar: 
Spenser's,  as  Shakespear's,  num'rous  love  poems  of  many 
kinds,  sonnets,  and  so  forth,  that  sliower  my  Margaret  aa 
with  water  of  Castaly,  are  also  part  of  the  Iliads  and 
Odyssey. 

My  translations  are  many  times  emploied  twice.  K 
my  love  poems  may  but  show  this,  you  will  understa'd. 
In  the  Cypher  story,  inside  plays,  my  hidden  book  mask'd 
in  its  sentences  oftentimes  a  play,  or  story,  divided  more, 
that  it  may  forme  the  inmost  of  my  secret  epistles. 

Of  course  we  must  not  suppose  our  Latin  work  to  re- 
move our  other  Cyphers  away  from  sharpe  inquisition,  but 
while  this  remaines  undiscover'd  my  secret  is  quite  exempt 
from  suspect 

My  first  importa't  letter  to  you  concerns  my  greatest 
invention  of  a  meanes  of  transmitting  whatsoever  I  wish  to 
share. 

My  story  may  be  found  in  this  way  after  I  am  dead; 
then  must  my  name  live  among  men  cleared  from  all  sorts 
of  blot,  or  imputation  o'  wrong  advice  to  Queene  Eliza- 
beth i'  th'  triall  of  Robert,  the  Earle  of  Essex,  for  treason. 
A  Queene  has  many  to  ayde,  if  th'  case  require,  but  a  sud- 


182  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

den  justice  pursues  a  subject  that  taketh  any  liberty  in 
matters  of  state.  When  the  offence  is  from  her  true  sonne, 
building  mighty  hopes  upon  the  overthrowe  of  the  power 
of  our  Queene — not  makeing  the  sinfulness  lesse,  rather 
greater — his  punishment  most  naturally  is  greater.  It  is 
justice,  yet  how  it  doth  blow  my  heart. 

At  men's  many  harsh  insinuations  or  open  obloquy,  my 
indignation  swell'd  till  my  heart  was  too  great.  Native 
pride  would  cause  one  to  seeke  a  means  of  shewing  the  true 
state  of  matters  for  justification:  true  he  is  onely  actuated  * 
by  his  worse  growth  of  motives,  but  the  facte  is  irrefute- 
able — a  most  simple  and  naturall  desire  for  just  and  worthy 
men  to  give  him  full  dues. 

Most,  (or  at  times,  truth  to  say,  all)  seeke  for  true 
respect;  the  most  of  us  insure  this,  no  doubt,  by  our  lives; 
but  occasion,  that  ariseth  when  least  looked  for,  may  mar 
fairest  prospects  most  suddenly.  An  unexpected  event 
may  blast  his  future  with  sorrow. 

Sole  accomptant  must  I  be  hereafter  for  the  share  I  had 
in  my  brother's  sorry  fate,  but  none  here  will  fully  acquit 
me,  and  so  my  worthiest  opponents  have  many  notable 
advantages. 

Injury  to  an  innocuous  man  who  is  milde  in  nature, 
must  be  harder  punishment  (I  am  assured  in  heart  it  must 
be  so)  then  to  the  man  of  iron  nerves  and  hardy  tempera- 
ture. I  am  no  soldi'r,  but  not  a  coward  either.  I  am  a 
student,  a  philosopher,  I  may  say  a  savant,  and  I  am  sen- 
sible of  injuries.  In  so  farr  as  this  is  unjust,  I  hereby 
demande  true  and  rightful  examination  by  any  man  that 
doth  regard  my  brother's  case  and  his  sentence  as  greatly 
altered   by   my    counsell,  and  reporteth  this  same  every- 

*Henry  the  Fifth. 


IN  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.  183 

where.  Let  my  plea  be  heard  and  just  judgement  be  ren- 
d'red.  I  will  aske  but  this,  "Aye,  strike  but  liste  to  me," 
and  marke  how  love  is  alwaies  manifested  in  our  enter^ 
course  at  all  the  times  of  meeting  in  prison,  many  of  my 
written  protestes  and  entreaties  to  Essex  to  turn  him  aside, 
intending  meerely  his  onely  good,  the  safety  of  his  own 
person. 

When  trust  is  proved  falsely  grounded,  much  of  hope 
droops  upon  its  stalk  like  a  summer's  floVr.  Thus  Essex 
did  fare.  0,  thinke  what  such  a  sorrowe  was,  such  puis- 
sant grief,  dismaie  and  uttermoste  despaire! 

Whenere  this  story  in  Cipher  doth  push  ope  th'  sepul- 
ture door,  strip  the  clothes  and  napkins  which  would  con- 
fine it  from  offe  its  feet,  and  so  stepp  out  among  living 
human  beings,  my  inmost  heart  must  be  reveal'd,  open  as 
upon  God's  great  day  of  a  last  judgment.  Make  your 
work  as  the  voyce  that  shall  commande  it  to  rise,  stand 
forth,  and  tell  to  mankinde  its  secret  woe. 

I  use  words  to  indicate  the  part  of  my  life  in  France, 
using  the  keyes  as  just  given  with  but  a  few  added,  such  as 
Paris,  Erance,  court,  Charles,  Henry.  Joyne  minde  or 
braine  (with  the  faculties)  also  spirit,  soule,  the'  conscience 
with  heart,  and  the  other  words  signifying  affection,  love, 
hate,  envie,  antipathy  and  like  passio's.  In  example  o' 
it  tume  t'  Cymbeline,  actus  primus,  scena  secunda,  by 
(Queene)  see  (Love)  (Heart)  both  by  the  key-words  nam'd 
in  my  latest  list,  thus  setting  off  to  another  use  each  of  the 
sections  so  shewne.  So  ever  Marlow,  Peele,  Greene,  or 
aniething  which  doth  containe  the  storie  of  the  stay  in 
Margaret's  sunshinie  France. 

Assorte  out  into  drawers  and  boxes  that  so  they  may 


*Henry  the  Fourth,  Part  I. 


184  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

bee  convenient  to  your  hand,  on  the  one  hand  putting  all 
o'  the  earlier  -history  keies,  on  the  other  th'  double-keyes 
of  the  later  part.  Never  cease  i'  the  pursuite  until  the 
worke  be  ended.  So  may  most  precious  writings  of  my 
owne  brother's  be  read,  as  I  did  include  a  part  of  his  his- 
tory o'  th'  Armada  from  Spairie.  It  is  that  part  where 
Palmer  doth  pursew  (all  that  night,  indeede,  after  brave 
action)  in  the  rear  o'  the  flying  spirit-like  sails  o'  the  Span- 
ish vessels.  Every  line  was  written  ere  those  bragging 
Jackes  arrived  at  the  harbours  from  which  they  had  sailed 
a  few  months  before. 

Making  your  next  portion  of  worke  the  Armada  from 
Spaine,  it  may  soone  be  scene  a  number  o'  keies  must  now 
have  attentio',  and  many  be  joined  to  them. 

Mary  did  enjoyne  upon  Phillip  such  a  course,  and,  as 
in  many  cases,  the  subjects  did  have  greater  love  and  more 
devotion  to  the  Head  of  their  Church  then  truth  and  loy- 
alty to  eyther  country  or  Queene,  there  was  somewhat  o' 
confidence  wanting  as  rumours  o'  the  Armada  reached  the 
farre-away  seamen.  When  they  put  out,  many  hundred 
Englishmen,  of  whatever  communion,  rose  in  defense.  The 
love  o'  home  is  a  stronger  affection,  in  some  doughtie  ser- 
vants of  the  Pope,  and  of  England,  then  the  love  of  things 
which  pertain  chiefly  to  that  religion  of  which  much  is 
rumoured  but  much  lesse  knowne. 

I  shall  not  make  much  of  this  subject  then,  when  writ- 
ing, as  ev'n  moe  zealous  and  blifided  servants  of  the  Church 
o'  the  old  religion,  rous'd  with  fury,  did  run  to  fight  inso- 
lent Spaine,  to  protect  life  and  home,  then  came  t'  ayde 
(summon'd  to  assist  by  the  Pope's  comma'd) — ^indeed  few 
made  anie  signe  to  manifest  their  allegiance  to  ought  but 
England. 


IN  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.  185 

In  our  Second  Henrie  Fourth,  you  will  finde  keyes  that 
ope  most  heavie  doors,  if  you  seek  *  dilligently.  These  ai-e 
words,  and  you  neere  would  wish  any  other  subtile  marke, 
so  plain  doe  all  keies  shewe  the  designe.  To  these  you 
conjoyne  divers  wordes  which  stand  a  fewe  spaces  from 
the  keyes — and  are  so  well  chosen  that  though  oft  used, 
my  plans  are  thereby  not  scene — and  marke  that  which 
doth  shewe  the  portions  which  must  be  built  up  like  the 
stone  walles  o'  a  castle.  But  the  workes,  when  you  shal 
have  finished  them  must  reveale  a  strength  shielding 
beautie. 

Make  this  booke  a  great  story  of  a  stirring,  fierie-tem- 
pered  man,  who  fought  brave  battels  for  Elizabeth,  not 
meerely  in  this  warre  with  Spaine  that  you  are  now  to 
write  out,  but  in  severall  which  I  do  give  in  full  in  my 
history. 

No  enemy  doth  so  doughtily  throw  downe  his  bold 
defiant  challenge  as  Philip,  true  sonne  of  Spaine;  none 
takes  up  that  glove  with  greater  ease  or  with  more  won- 
derous  skill  then  Elizab'th.  She  it  is  that  we  shall  throw 
light  upon  now,  for  writing  at  a  time  of  so  much  danger 
the  penne  was  mild.  Men  in  such  bold  history  whom  I 
thrust  most  to  your  presence,  may  neede  have  some  time 
to  plead  for  mercy  at  God's  high  throne,  when  their  many 
crimes,  hired  to  be  performed,  are  unveiled. 

Sin  oft  strongly  warres  in  th'  mind,  and  if  no  murther- 
ous  act  be  done,  bears  wrong  much  yoked  with  humil'ty, 
but  if  crime  be  on  a  person's  hands,  manie  a  rout  o'  jeeri'g 
divels  come  into  his  soule  o'  which  the  worst  is  pride.  So 
fared  Her  Ma.,  Queene  Elizabeth. 

Her  whole  spirit  was  but  one  infernall  *  region,  a  realm 


♦Henry  the  Fourth,  Part  II. 


♦Othello. 


186  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

o'  Pluto,  untold  days  i'  her  times  of  mirth,  or  times  of  staid 
and  verie  grave  deportment;  for  the  blood  of  her  youngest 
borne  was  upon  her  royall  hand,  if  not  that  of  manie 
others,  heirs  to  a  future  o'  paine.  I'  sooth  none  can  div'lge 
her  greatest  harmes,  for  this  world's  eyes  have  no  worthy 
use,  but  all  shunn  the  vision  o'  shame,  especially  in  this 
Queene.  Her  vanity  may  seeme  most  veniall  even,  but 
vaine  motives  lay  at  the  bottome  o'  everything  which  this 
woman  did. 

She  was  my  mother,  yet  I  more  then  anie  other  have 
cause  to  curse  her,  I  answer  here  a  few  of  the  world's 
accusations.  I,  after  insult  above  your  just  conceit,  I  open 
my  hard  lips  for  my  first  lengthy  complaint,  uttering  here 
much  of  the  gall  and  naturall  wrath  my  burdened  heart 
has  carried  many  a  yeere.  Have  patience,  I  prithee,  my 
worthy  friend,  and  continue  your  writing,  untill  my  his- 
tory at  least  has  been  co'pleatlie  finished ;  then  if  it  must 
bee  left,  it  must  bee,  yet  do  you  keep  in  mind  one  thing — 
it  is  this^ — now  must  we  see  the  glancing  of  Fortune's  light, 
to  th'  desire  of  my  unsubmiss  soule;  some  will  be  pleas'd, 
I  doubt  not,  to  yeeld. 

If  your  pen  have  no  glory,  it,  indeed,  is  by  some  short- 
coming of  your  owne,  for  I  have  prepared  the  way  to  for- 
tune and  high  favo'.  You  may  be  my  voyce  to  utte'  the 
words  I  would  fain  speak,  yet,  should  you  refuse,  another 
browe  will  winn  the  rigoll. 

If  hate's  venom  leave  a  soule  doom'd,  no  ray  does  light 
mine  awefuU  tombe,  no  sun  sweetly  ilume  th'  waye. 

With  Thee  is  hope,  forgiveness,  peace,  O  God,  Father 
of  light,  and  Author  of  our  being. 


IN  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.  IS? 

Pilate  said,  when  hee  had  framed  a  title  for  the  King 
of  the  Jews,  "What  I  have  written,  I  have  written."  Thus 
must  m J  work  of  this  nature  be  left  as  it  is,  and  that  which 
is  mj  onelv  honor  may  put  vastly  more  happinesse  upon 
us.  'No  men's  heirs  of  empty  honours  do  outvie  my  right 
witty  and  much  valued  friend,  th'  man  who  raveled  these 
threads.  I  burthen  one,  who  to  do  my  old  friend  of  truth 
and  much  constancy,  justice,  must  not  be  of  our  time,  and 
my  wish  is  that  my  whole  workes  should  bee  for  you'  good. 

By  my  tones  I  shewe  first  various  waies  to  direct  the  eie 
to  any  portions  o'  the  Cypher.  Truth  to  say  th'  winds 
change  lesse  in  the  dale  then  doth  th'  guiding  hand.  I 
took  for  mine  instru'tion  the  signs  o'  some  forme  that  is 
helde  worthy  but  use  no  such  important  marks,  except 
th'  dot,  to  shew  when  our  shifts  should  be  furder.  You 
then  turn  to  my  guide  word,  finde  by  your  small  table 
which  o'  th'  numerous  works  is  indicated:  next  seeke  the 
word-keye  and  write  what  you  *  there  finde. 

Each  of  the  stories  thus  made  to  relate  a  part  that  is 
but  half  made  out — for  this  slower  waye  we  employ  doth 
concern  my  others — but  when  it  has  all  ben  work'd  out, 
my  method  will  be  thought  marvellous.  It  manie  times 
is  given  with  fear  of  faile,  warring  i'  the  spirit  with  fear 
of  a  worse  result. 

Too  clear  meanes  were  not  of  acc't,  for  th'  restlesse  eyes 
o'  foes  watched  my  worke,  to  finde  a  thread  to  twiste  into 
the  loop  of  th'  executio'r;  too  dense,  concealed  noe  less  th' 
much  valew'd  guiding  hand  which  ledd  to  the  Cypher. 
Sundry  words  shewe  my  works  as  scene  in  my  Instauratio ; 
severall  more  have  anothe'  name  to  marke  them  as  well,  as 
you  will  see,  very  exceptionall,  or  rather,  I  may  say,  quite 

♦Richard  the  Second. 


188  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

originall  and  unequaled  use.  I  make  them  to  shut  out  all 
but  this  f aithf ull  decipherer,  for  the  instruc'ions,  rules,  and 
so  forth,  are  widelie  scattered.  I  do  not  give  sufficient  in 
any  one  of  these  playes  to  bewray  my  Cipher,  but  he  who 
hath  turn'd  aside  for  no  fleet  footed  Siren,  or  Nymphe, 
will  enter  into  a  richer  store  of  goldene  treasure  even  then 
he  has  dre'mt  of,  for  I  lead  his  eager  steps.  Hence  I  say 
again  to  you,  do  you  keep  pressing  on  for  a  day  shall 
come  that  shall  bring  its  dues  of  joy.  Life  is  but  one 
sh'rt  race;  it  doth  not  twice  reward  us. 

It  is  well  to  know  a  crown  can  one  o'  these  good  days 
be  put  on — an  imortall  crowne  that  ruste  shall  do  no  ill, 
nor  evill  men  deny  to  such  as  do  inherite  it,  or  winne  in 
any  sorte  of  strife  of  th'  poets — authors  with  brother  au- 
thors. It  awaits  one  whom  Time  maketh  Truth's  expos'tor, 
for  he  who  may  unseen, — though  himself  simply  serving 
a  knowTie,  *  I  may  say  an  honour'd  man, — write  and  pub- 
lish the  secrets  I  do  thus  conceale,  may  have  more  glory, 
more  fame,  even  then  he  hath  who  taketh  a  city. 

Whatsoever  of  honour,  of  fame,  or  glory  my  work  hath, 
th'  great  reward  giv'n  unto  him, — my  friend,  (my  truthfull 
minde  now  open'd  fully  to  it  would  make  avowall)  of 
equall  braine,  hand  and  heart,  as  is  plainly  indicated  by  his 
ability  to  search  out  my  story, — must  bee  even  greater. 
This  then  shall  crowne  your  head:  it  can  fal  to  no  other 
even  after  we  have  turned  t'  clay,  for  you  must  be  fir^t 
whoever  Time  bringeth  afte'  you. 

A  man's  achievements  truely  do  out-live  man,  or  his 
love  or  hate,  bitter  as  the  one  may  be  and  sweet  th'  other. 
The  long  silence  will  not  lie  eternall  ages  on  the  tongue, 
but  in  his  writings  is  a  new  life.  Mind  this  amidst  all 
discourageme'ts. 

♦Anthony  and  Cleopatra.    . 


IN  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.  189 

Time  shall  reward  our  patience  if  we  do  trulie  well,  and 
await  the  daye;  if  our  worke  be  ill,  the  yeeres  will  pointe 
the  finge'  of  scorn  at  us.  I  would  be  no  object  of  such 
attention,  yet  do  I  seeke  the  noting  eies  of  posterity  and 
write  for  men  not  living  on  th'  face  o'  earth.  Th'  .'Eons 
that  are  to  be,  doe  not  so  rudely  plunge  men  o'  mark'd 
eminence  into  old-time  idole  night,  at  least  not  in  full 
compleat  and  pe'fecte  possession  of  remarkable  pow'rs. 
Thus  I  put  a  calme,  brave,  enduring — ev'n  chearfull — 
heart  ever  in  my  looks,  nor  turn  my  eies  fro'  a  mark  in 
Fame's  targ't. 

When  you  have  fully  collected  the  keies  into  such  part 
of  your  working-roome  as  shall  not  bee  disturbed,  begin 
your  task  by  assorteing  your  keys.  You  should  not  use 
more  of  them  than  I  give  in  th'  small  table;  note  also  that 
these  must  not  be  used  as  you  open'd  divers  books,  with 
noe  order,  no  method,  no  system,  but  these  are  links  i'  th' 
long  chaine.  All  are  guides  t'  another  part  o'  the  secret 
plays  and  my  many  poemes  that  are  hidden  in  workes  of 
any  valew,  that  I  have  sent  out  since  I  invented  my  first 
small  Cypher  while  I  was  in  Paris  in  my  early  youth. 

When  one  will  take  the  work  noe  furder,  you  use  others, 
but  if  you  wo'ld  keepe  keys  in  th'  order  of  my  owne  table 
you  must  finde  it  of  great  aide  i'  th'  work.  E-emember, 
well  gleaned  keies  must  vary  i'  the  apparent  use.  Finde 
some  table  as  above;  manie  may  be  seen  in  your  work  cer- 
tainlie  even  now,  since  you  must  finde  some  in  each  play; 
these  are  good  ayds.  If  the  table  changes  as  I  form 
Cypher  plays,  it  is  because  I  sek  to  avoid  confusion. 

My  first  and  sixth  Cyphers  appear  even  more  in  some 
unpublisht  poems  of  my  early  yeares,  and  my  rules  are 
explained  therein  with  such  sundry  notes, — designed    to 


190  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

render  aide  in  the  work,  as  well  as  to  give  to  book-lovers, 
or  cursory  readers  even,  faetes  relating  unto  this  matter 
handled, — that  it  was  too  evident  and  clear. 

With  the  kingdome  still  greater  in  fact  then  most,  'tis 
not  then  bold  to  dub  myself  heir  to  one  o'  those  happily 
plac'd  realms  ev'n  old  IvTeptune's  waters  keepe  from  every 
harme  and  threat  of  danger.  Yet  in  this  work  o'  my  hands 
I  am  heire-apparent  to  a  much  loftier  seate,  a  scepter  of 
pow'r  that  must  ev'n  extende  to  posterity.  Nor  time  nor 
death  can  take  my  second  kingdome  from  me.  But  future 
ages  shall  crowne  you  king  of  many  more  f  arre-extending. 
The  royall  scutcheon  of  your  worthy  arms  shall  shine  as 
the  sunne,  fill  your  mindes  eyes  with  dazzling  light  and, 
glory,  turn  darkest  night  to  daie  and  scatter  every  cloude. 
Each  booke  truelie  doth  make  the  glory  greater,  but  with- 
out my  help  *  you  could  not  hope  just  or  generous  atte'tion 
will  be  given  you,  for  I  do  compas  this  end  at  least. 

No  subject  which  hath  a  place  o'  state  in  the  written 
bookes,  shall  be  lost  to  th'  carefull  kindlie  person  that  doth 
so  finde  this  secret,  and  th'  story  he  shall  take  from  this 
Cypher  may  ever  reveale  each :  the  one  which  is  of  import- 
ance here  doth  ch'efly  concern  him  that  speaks  to  you  in 
this  maner. 

No  doubt  I  will  shew  manie  errours  each  day.  When 
Art's  maske  is  in  ruins  marke  well  those  features  behind 
it;  when  Nature  lifts  the  veil  that  conceals  th'  First  or 
Primal  Cause,  there  shall  stande  reveal'd  one  [not]  now 
recognized;  so  then  shal  Reputation  be  knowne  as  it  is 
and  not  as  it  is  thought;  Fortune,  also  Honor  and  Truth, 
shall  be  seen  in  Time. 

It  is  your  hand  which  shall  make  all  th'  right  to  be 
knowne,  else  shall  our  dust,  lying  in  its  tombe  unhonour'd 

♦Cymbeline. 


IN  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.  191 

by  love  and  estime  such  as  is  given  unto  other  royall 
Princes,  feel  in  its  least  particle  the  wrongs  that  I  beare. 

I  have  placed  in  many  of  my  latest  works  the  Cypher 
that  is  to  intimate  and  pointe  out  some  others,  while  it 
hath  so  small  use  in  works  of  length,  that  I  speak  of  it 
rarely.  You  find  it  oft  in  prose  workes:  it  is  symbols,  and 
as  hath  already  beene  said  hath  little  use  if  your  letter 
be  th'  length  ev'n  that  hillet  doux  are  ofte  made. 

End  your  list  so — more  you  will  not  now  finde — ^nor 
at  anie  time  are  your  more  thoroughly  culled  tables  to 
bee  left  and  laid  aside,  as  th'  new  names  are  given,  but 
all  are  used.  You  doubtlesse  observe  this  in  numberlesse 
places  when  writing.*  If  some  o'  the  words  are  (as  these 
above)  but  rarely  used,  it  doth  even  more  conceale  a 
Cipher  mystery.  In  soe  farre  as  wordes  having  a  double 
use  (double  Cypher  being  oft  shewne  in  the  same  work) 
naturally  occurring  for  names  of  the  writer,  could  be  varied 
and  imploied,  such  have  had  the  chief e  place;  but,  as  this 
could  not  be  used  in  all  the  plays,  do  not  looke  for  the 
other  epistle  if  you  be  onelie  a  curious  seeker. 

Enter  upon  the  queast  with  zeale,  or,  at  least,  in  an  - 
earnest  frame  of  minde.  It  doth  ever  assure  a  good  course. 
Finish  the  portion  given  here,  the'  take  Cypher  number 
six  and  work  out  the  first  letter,  as  it  hath  a  part  of  a 
plan  that  I  have  carried  on  in  these  other  Cyphers;  but 
for  the  double  use,  take  its  numerous  fuU  directions  found 
in  this  place. 

I  havfe  oft  put  the  most  usef uU  hints  of  all  in  the  more 
difficile  plays,  i.  e.,  the  plays  that  are  made  up  chieflie 
of  fragments.  When  one  Cypher  hath  part  of  a  rule  (the 
rules  plac'd  in  this  Bi-literall  and  the  Word  Cipher  in  my 

*Hanilet. 


192  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

workes,  however,  forme  an  exception)  others  near  this  one 
have  parts  of  it  also. 

The  play  of  Han^et  hath  the  commencement  of  a 
Cipher  rule  of  no  small  interest.  One  called  a  Time 
Cypher,  because  numbers  were  keyes,  sheweth  you  th' 
first  o'  th'  directions,  the  Bi-literall,  the  second,  and  the 
capitall  letter  Cypher  hath  the  last.  ISTo  more  are  needed 
for  these  letters  i'  th'  plays  then  you  shall  by  this  time 
have,  or  at  the  most  must  soon  come  acrosse,  and  I  requeast 
you  to  finde  th'  rule  concealed,  first  in  Henry  the  Seve'th, 
then  explained  in  one  o'  the  playes. 

Err  not  in  my  worke.  Hope  quickens  to  duty:  trust 
conquers  all:  for  truth  is  as  the  crowne  won  in  th'  race. 
'Tis  evermore  th'  part  of  an  eager  runner  if  successe  bee 
desired,  to  keepe  on  bravely  to  th'  goale,  for  'tis  unto  him 
a  crowne  is  given  who  doth  claime  the  prize  alone,  through 
his  timely  efforts  and  his  perseverance. 

In  study  hope  may  in  part  aide  you.  Keepe  a  most 
cautious  watchfull  eye  on  that  foe  to  your  worke,  a  love 
of  pleasure,  and  on  his  sister,  idlenesse,  for  of  their  com- 
panionship no  good  doth  come.  Take  our  lampe  as  your 
onely  guide,  and  stay  but  to  see  th'  lustrous  gem-studded 
sceptre  that  doth  appeare  f  arre  to  reach,  but  shall  asuredly 
command  much  that  doth  lesse  please  then  honor,  for  I 
haste  on  i'  fond  hope  of  some  othe',  better  or  fuller  and 
richer  reward. 

The  thought  which  gives  t'  my  weak  courage  assurance 
of  truth's  finall  triumphe  seems  feeble, — ev'n,  to  some, 
folly, — yet  better  men  oft  seeke  their  fame  with  as  great 
love  of  th'  vaporous  breath  of  worldly  plaudits.  You  but 
imagine  that  my  ordeal  would  be  so  much  lighte',  my 
owne  life  much  better,  if  to  our  future  we  portray  as  so 


IN  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.  193 

much  to  be  desired,  a  due  measure  of  ease  and  wealth  be 
given. 

Look  in  former  works  explaining  plans  we  have  formed 
to  ayde  our  many  seekers  afte'  greatnesse,  such  as  do  not 
cower  if  it  be  Troy  to  winn,  or  Helena's  faire  face  to  see: 
gaily  they  go.  So  sure  is  my  hero  of  your  ayde,  o'  due 
zeale  in  his  arduous  *  undertaking,  that  we  leave  him. 

A  key  t'  unlocke  will  Fortuna  now  set  forth,  and  his 
turning  will  ope  most  lordly  portalls.  FoUowe  whithe'  a 
man's  steps  mark  yon  way,  as  I  gave  her  many  a  faint 
pursuer  as  an  inception  to  this  quest.  Taking  each  at  the 
test  you  may  prove  great,  and  doubly  win  honor.  Worlds, 
yes  the  univearse,  may  note  our  acts  and  we  may  open 
every  tragedie  of  our  own  history,  but  to  mince  my  woes, 
or  vaunt  unseemlie  wrongs  to  me,  although  it  may  be  a 
constant  temptation,  are  both  so  truly  unjust,  so  futile, 
that  I  will  no  longe'  spende  man's  quickly  flitting  weeks 
in  bemoneing  the  woes  o'  my  youth. 

I  may  then  to  this  labour  apply  both  fervour  and  joy, 
for  so  shal  my  loved  books  take  many  more  o'  th'  thoughts 
of  the  tryall  yet  to  be.  From  livi'g  so  much  in  Paris  I 
have  a  truly  Fre'ch  spirit.  Th'  love  of  inquiry  so  employs 
a  mind  from  morn's  wydelie  sent  e'rly  beames  to  eve's 
final  parti'g  fro'  the  earth, — or,  truly  saying,  till  tapers 
are  burn'd  low, — the  faire  hand  o'  Science  leades  to  th' 
hightes  with  so  sweet  a  grace,  no  man  could  resist.  There- 
for' shall  I  make  studie  not  alone  th'  attendant  o'  every 
day,  but,  as  well,  th'  bosom  friend.  Studie  doth  fill  a 
hung'ring  minde,  while  it  leaveth  behind  still  greater 
desires  to  attai'  to  all  heights,  and  sou'd  those  wondrous 
seas  mortal  man  hath  nere  su'mounted  or  sounded. 


•Richard  the  Third. 


194  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON.         ' 

For  many  earlier  lines  o'  th'  play  I  heere  am  making 
cleare  to  my  followers  i'  th'  other  (or  Word-Cipher)  that 
of  Eduard  shal  be  th'  next  joined  after  Timon.  Th'  latter 
hath  much  later  rend'ri'g  of  events,  for  not  much  o'  his 
life  is  contain'd  in  works  of  anie  extente.  Mark  your 
keyes,  resting  not  until  you  slothful  shal  be  found,  or 
fluctuating.  Since  I  upon  all  of  these  most  precious 
books  have  nere  ask'd  one  word,  nor  said  one  to  winne 
praise  to  my  name,  it  must  bee  loste  study  if  left. 

A  true  love  o'  my  Ciphe'  work,  old  as  manie  of  such 
must  be,  (indeed  I  name  part  of  a  series,  which  a  more 
industrious  man  must  too  oft  consider  is  too  meage')  is 
one  of  the  best  aides,  for  no  work  handl'd  as  mine,  what 
woful  tale  so-e'er  it  may  tell,  can  be  dull.  Oft  many  may 
seeme  winnow'd  o'  just  morale  essays  or  sermons,  but 
much  wrought  and  drawn  out  into  plaies,  yet  is  my  truest 
labor  so  full  o'  dramaticall  events  with  numerous  scenicke 
aydes,  it  may  not  astonish  my  decypherer  if  I  write  my 
life  as  a  plaie.*  If  he  shall  discover  this  in  th'  play  here 
scene,  th'  many  keys  should  next  be  arrang'd  or  the  differ- 
ent scenes  were  easilie  changed. 

This  work,  like  th'  followi'g,  that  will  soon  be  found, 
requireth  much  of  carefull,  I,  [ay]  zealous  asking  at  the 
Throne  of  Life  and  o'  all  true  Wisedome  ere  it  may  be 
undertaken,  but  none  should  goe  back  who  have  sought 
t'  enter  at  a  gate  which  doth  open  into  an  ingenious  maze 
not  yet  folowed  halfe  waye  to  our  more  choice,  or  th'  last 
story  of  our  Court-life.*  Observe  my  consta't  timely 
Cipher  aides  that  I  have  plac'd  i'  th'  most  of  my  play  of 
"Winter's  Tale.  You'  eye  will  note  such  but  by  keeping 
vig'lant  watch.     Manie  words  round  a  part  of  the  Cypher 

*Timon  of  Athens. 


IN  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.  195 

have  use  as  well.  For  example,  words  I  intend  to  be  th' 
rules  to  follow  and  note,  for  o'  all  mj  deciph'rers  ayds, 
at  first  th'  best  is  that  of  an  easily  seene  guiding  word,  or 
key  which  shall  be  your  oft  lost  but  ever  readie  servant, 
coming  if  sought  and  alway  directing  you  i'  th'  way  you 
should  go. 

Beare  in  minde  that  hee  is  like  Prospero's  quicke  spirit, 
Ariell,  as  airy  as  our  owne  breath,  therefore  your  eyes 
while  sometimes  afarre  off  could  espie  this  one  aydante. 
Pan.  My  plan  so  wisely  useth  Pan  much  more,  as  may 
quickly  be  seen,  then  N'ature,  but  do  not  lose  eyther  one 
of  these.  With  Reputation,  Honour,  Fortune,  Truth  and 
th'  Art  now  in  hand,  you  have  all  that'you  need  at  present 
to  carry  on  the  work.  However,  o'  th'  most  o'  th'  rules,  ~ 
keep  ever  watch. 

Look  for  my  works  that  hidden  truth  may  upon  errour 
throw  light.  In  some  of  my  oldest  plays  many  wordes, 
e.  g.,  men,  wronges,  unkinde,  jeer,  oaths,  etcaetera,  in 
every  act,  would  attract  too  much  attentio'  therefore  I  have 
varied  the  keyes  using  different  ones  for  th'  different 
parts  of  th'  same  storie,  yet  keeping  two  or  three  through- 
out. Most  wordes  signify  other  thinges — to  put  th'  parts 
which  accord  in  position  or  to  name  a  worke. 

I  have  here  no  verie  great  field  for  any  kinde  of  plaie, 
or  a  work  most  men  think  great,  i.  e.,  the  men  who  only 
consider  a  wonder.  If  strange  thinges,  so  filled  with 
marvells  that  none  read  understandingly,  come  before 
them,  t'  these  wise  seekers  they  seeme  most  worthy,  but 
commonplacenesse  is  to  them  a  folly.  But  my  decipherer 
shall  not  be  deprived  ruthlesselie  of  this  worke,  nor  I  of 
my  due  reward  when  this  shall  be  understood. 

St.  ALBAN. 


196  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

(Old  Wives  Tales  should  follow  here,  but  original 
is  not  in  hand.  Twelfth  Night  commences  thus  with 
an  incomplete  subject.) 

This  play  hath  both.  By  such  a  manner  much  of  this 
may  be  used  for  the  other  Cipher,  and  many  days  thereby 
tum'd  to  greate'  matters.  As  in  Old  Wives,  if  a  word 
would  attract  attentio'  by  such  mark'd  and  peculiarly 
shaped  letters,  it  would  in  no  waye  bee  in  great  perill. 

My  keyes  were  form'd  before  one  o'  my  plays  was  put 
together  and  all  was  very  well  plann'd.  Old  men  might 
faile  to  see  a  curious,  or  rather  a  peculiar  commingling 
of  letters  in  th'  jft-inted  pages  sent  out,  but  young  eyes 
might  note  it,  therefore  there  are  some  markes  emploied 
for  signes  to  my  decypherer — ^yours  would  see  in  truth 
more  quickly — and  so  no  evills  hap  from  so  daring  an 
experiment.  In  my  Historic  of  Henry  th'  Seventh  this  is 
explain'd.  Omit  Finis  Actus.  It  may  add  t'  your  confusion 
in  the  beginning  but  you  can  understand  my  other  Cipher 
must  have  occasionally  a  fewe  more  letters.  These,  hav- 
ing beene  us'd  in  your  former  work  as  you  remember,  will 
have  moved  inquiry.  If  you  inquir'd  of  anyone  except 
myself e,  how  should  it  bring  a  replie?  This  is  for  your- 
selfe.  None  but  he  that  holdeth  my  keyes  should  make 
attempt  to  read  Cyphers  and  one  who  hath  a  key  should 
rest  not  yet  till  he  hath  searched  out  all  hidden  matters. 

It  is  to  man's  glory  to  finde  out  secrets.  Th'  wise  have 
th'  fruit  o'  much  labour  o'  othe'  men  and  do  more  profitt 
thereby  then  they  themselves.  Thus  shal  you  reap  where 
we  have  sown  if  you  wearie  not  before  nightfall. 

When  Henry  th'  Seventh  is  joyn'd  with  th'  six  stage 
plays  first  sent  forth  i'  this  name,  that  Cypher  we  now 


IN  SHAKESPEARE  PLaYS.  197 

would  fain  see  wrought  out  can  be  discover'd.  This  also 
should  not  bee  left  out.  I  have  oft  nam'd  some  works  in 
these  unimporta't  methods,  (i.  e.,  th'  ways  that  were 
auxiliaries  to  th'  principall  one,  that  ayde  th'  work 
greatly)  to  put  all  huntsmen  off  th'  scent.  By  use  o'  words 
o'  lesse  mark  then  th'  names,  I  can  *  give  my  decyph'rer 
signes  and  directions  knowne  but  to  us. 

To  this  short  waye  of  giving  necesarie  aide  to  hasten 
forwards  this  work,  I  owe  th'  great  advancem'nt.  Wherein 
we  could  alter  your  letters  and  give  some  hint  to  help  to 
ayd  you'  wit  (it  is  such  an  excellent  art)  we  ventur'd 
upon  it  ere,  in  such  clear  manner,  it  had  been  noted.  It 
is  manifest  also  that  you  will  not  work  in  the  dark  long. 
To  you,  in  sundrie  wayes,  our  plann  hath  been  for  some 
yeers,  as  it  is  to  my  own  minde,  and  your  quick  sense  doth 
see  when  the  law  of  my  letters  is  broken,  and  many  repe- 
titio's  of  offence,  or  disregarde  of  th'  known  law  must 
not  seeme  too  frequent.  Employ  some  meanes  for  setting 
right  th'  wosk.  Our  letters  will  soon  retume  to  the  form 
you  have  used  save  th'  two  (E  and  G)  which  wee  alter 
throughout  th'  plays  because  in  th'  six  containing  another, 
th'  capitall  letters  are  us'd  againe. 

A  story  may  relate  secret  matters.  It  is  th'  part  of  a 
prudent  writer  indeed  to  guard  against  surprises.  This 
you  should  understand,  yourselfe,  or  asuredly  you  will  in 
due  time.  A  secret  is  verilie  in  the  numerous  writings 
nam'd  some  time  ago,  hoping  then  my  hand  might  have 
done  well  all  that  I  did  uptake. 

JSText  write -a  comedy,  a  quaint  *  device  for  making 
knowne  th'  men  that  io  give,  lend,  sell,  or  in  anie  othe' 
waye,  have  put  me  into  possession  of  their  names.     These 

*Comedy  of  Errors.  *Midsummer  Night's  Dream. 


198  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

I  have  us'd  as  disguises  that  my  name  might  not  bee  seen 
attached  to  any  poem,  stage-play,  or  anie  of  th'  light 
workes  o'  this  day. 

The  cause  of  this  is  clear.  I^ot  alone  for  pride  in  our 
choyse  o'  science  for  a  fiel'  of  hard  labour,  but  also  that 
I  might  be  at  liberty  to  use  these  workes  as  the  exteriour 
letter,  hiding  my  secret  writi'gs,  as  no  other  person  is 
cogniza't  of  the  work  save  my  foster-brother  Anthony,  my 
owne  brother  Robert,  Ben  lonson,  my  friend,  adviser  and 
assistant,  and  our  private  secretary,  yet  for  the  exteriour 
part  we  imploie  many  amanuenses,  for  we  can  keepe  sev- 
erall  employed  when  reading  our  plays  for  our  iinall 
review,  or  when  assembling  th'  parts. 

Th'  title  of  th'  comedy  is — Seven  Wise  Men  of  th' 
"West.  Actors'  names:  Eobert,  Christoph'r,  William, 
another  Eobert,  George,  Edmund  and  Frances.  The 
scene  is  London.  Other  name'  to  find  parts  are:  th' 
pedant,  braggart,  foole,  hedge-priest,  boy,  poet,  philos- 
opher. 

*Witn  these  as  keies  you  can  decypher  this,  as  I  said, 
and  as  you  bring  out  scenes  of  much  witinesse  both  i'  th' 
language,  and  in  th'  gestures,  actio'  and  situations,  you 
yourselfe  shall  bee  well  entertain'd,  I  assure  you,  since  it 
is  as  well  plan'd  as  the  workes  that  have  been  put  out,  and 
as  well  finish'd. 

When  this  hath  been  intirely  decypher'd,  a  tragedie 
in  five  acts  foUoweth  it,  agreeing  in  manie  of  th'  keies, 
because  of  th'  names  and  synonyma  againe  used.  It  is 
what  every  man's  memory  yet  is  aware  of:  A  Tragedy 
of  Marlow.  A  servant  is  to  be  ad(^ — the  unworthie  one 
by  whom  Marlowe's  life  was  taken — Francis  Archer.     As 

*A8  You  Like  It. 


IN  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.  199 

th'  jojni'g  words  are  different  from  th'  comedy,  there  will 
be  no  danger  o'  getting  th'  parts  commingl'd. 

Many  other  keyes  are  now  giv'n  as  followeth:  Tav- 
emes,  courtezan,  inn-keeper,  brawl,  fray,  dagger,  wine, 
moonlight,  blood,  friends,  death,  funerall.  A  part  of 
your  materiall  will  be  in  tragedy  of  excellence  *  published 
in  this  work,  and  this  is  to  make  search  a  pleasant  taske. 
But  a  large  part  of  one  of  th'  acts  is  from  works  publish'd 
in  his  name.  It  needeth  not  to  say  this  concerneth  not 
Marlowe's  death  but  his  life.  This  often  gave  me  a 
theame  of  sad  interest. 

Th'  remaining  acts  you  will  get  in  th'  Essays  and  these 
Shakespeare  plays.  Th'  greater  part  of  the  aforesaid 
comedie  is  in  these  comedies,  and  a  large  portion  of  this 
story  o'  Marlowe,  in  the  tragedies. 

Anothe'  history  is  to  be  decypher'd  that  taketh  up  all 
Eliza  would  faine  leave  t'  Time's  blindnesse.  In  th'  play 
we  give  th'  story  some  o'  th'  strange  plainnes — utter  each 
true,  hard  charge,  in  boldnesse  borne  of  a  timoro's  spirit 
made  bold  in  its  sure  hiding,  as  a  timorous  hare  in  its 
refuge  doth  brave  th'  harrier — ^no  spirit  would  bee  daring 
enough  to  reveal  in  his  work,  havi'g  a  title  leaf  which 
doth  bear  his  name,  old,  ominous,  night  stories  of  a  mighty 
Queene.  His  life  would  bee  the  forfeit— mine  much 
more  since  she  is  my  mother;  yet  it  herein  hideth,  and 
besides  it  is  more  vailed  by  my  pen-names. 

The  story  o'  th'  Armado  is  told  twice  as  it  formeth 
part  of  our  latest  stage-play  (of  this  now  in  your  hand) 
and  part  of  my  Ciphe'  epics  that  have  doubtlessly  been 
found.  This  historic  formeth  one  in  a  series  of  five  (in 
Cipher)    and   with    eight   in   comedy   and   tragedy   (also 

*Love's  Labor's  Lost. 


200  BI-LITERAL  CYPHElR  OP  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Cipher)  compleates  the  dramas  of  your  twice  concealed 
work, — once  with  my  names  and  once  with  my  devices. 

As  I  have  often  said,  and  as  you  well  know  by  this 
time,  you  have  poems  and  prose  workes  on  divers  theames 
in  all  such  various  stiles  as  are  put  before  th'  world  as 
Greene's,  as  Shakespeare's,  Burto's,  as  Peele's,  Spenser's, 
as  Marlowe's,  as  Jonso'  dramas  or  my  own  long  devis'd 
and  but  well  begun  labour, — then  which  none  hath  a 
better  object, — for  I  varied  my  stile  to  suit  different  men, 
since  no  two  shew  th'  same  taste  and  like  imagination, 
and  all  doth  containe  th'  great  Cypher  I  constantlie  teach, 
although  I  may  not  freely  place  th'  rules  among  a  great 
part  which  is  not  of  th'  nature  of  most  histories,  but 
revealeth  many  secrets  and  is  not  afear'd  to  utter  truth, 
when  a  guard  so  hemmeth  up  th'  way  dange'  cannot  harie. 
These  true  words  would  cost  us  dearly,  were  one  of  th' 
tales  *  so  much,  even,  as  whisper'd  in  some  willing  eare; 
yet  for  the  sake  of  truth,  humanity,  and  justice,  yea 
honour  also,  we  resolv'd  to  write  these  histories,  and  thus 
disguised,  leave  them  for  wits  in  th'  ages  adown  Time's 
great  rolling  rive'. 

We  still  stand  close  at  hand  (our  wishes  should  wield 
some  power)  for  th'  protection  rightfullie  ow'd  to  th' 
workes,  yet  it  is  to  bee  desir'd  that  obscurity  may  wrap 
them  found  awhile,  perchance  untill  my  life  of  Time  may 
slip  unnoted  and  unregreted  from  th'  earth.  One  doth 
not  have  wild  passionate  desires  and  longings  for  power, 
when  the  light  from  th'  Eternall  Throne  doth  fall  on  him, 
but  we  would  leave  a  name  and  a  work  men  must  honour. 
'Tis  th'  hope  that  helped  me  woo  poetry,  to  pursue  Muses, 
to  weave  dramas,  to  delve  deep  in  sciences,  to  pore  over 
philosophic. 

•Two  Gentelmen  of  Verona. 


IN  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.  201 

And  'tis  tx)  posterity  I  looke  for  honor,  farre  off  in 
time  and  in  place,  yet  should  Fame  sound  her  sweet  ton'd 
trump  before  mee  here  and  at  this  time;  and  there  is  that 
in  midst  wondrous  dreams  maketh  such  strong  protest 
against  th'  doom  o'  oblivion,  it  is  made  most  plain  to  me 
th'  houre  shall  yet  strike,  when  England  shall  honour  me, 
their  ill-fated  Prince,  whom  all  the  Destinies  combin'd 
to  curse,  and  thwart  each  effort  to  obtaine  that  title — 
Prince  o'  Wales — which  was  in  truth  many  a  day  rightlie 
my  owne. 

And    afterwards   my   stile  should  justlie   have  beene 

Francis   First   of  England, — and  yet   of  this   no   words 

availe.     Too  late  it  would  bee — now  that  all  our  ^vitnesses 

are  dead,  our  certificat's  destroy'd — to  bring  in  a  clayme 

to  th'  English  throne.     It  would  soone  bring  my  death 

about. 

F.  BACO'. 

*Any  one  who  can  read  th'  plain  marks  plac'd  in  th' 
letters  can  write  my  Cypher  plays  and  th'  stories;  but 
he  that  heedeth  my  signes  lesse,  can  onlie  work  out  part 
o'  th'  rules,  small  portions  of  arguments,  and  get  barely 
an  outline  of  th'  work. 

You  must  therfifore  have  my  suggestions  in  your  minde 
and  be  watchfull,  lest  you  have  a  difficult  taske  where  I 
have  labour'd  to  make  straight  paths  for  you,  while  other 
men  are  led  astray,  reasoning  in  my  minde  in  this  waye: 
Hee  who  seeth  th'  signes  must  mark  some  significance  or 
designe,  but  most  men  will  suppose  this  to  rest  entirely 
in  the  marks  and  will  finde  nothing;  while  my  more 
experienc'd  decipherer,  if  he  have  found  out  any  o'  my 

♦Merchant  of  Venice. 


202  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

directio's,  will  soone  learn  th'  meaning,  and  by  th'  use 
of  mark'd  letters  in  saying  this,  it  will  not  bee  expos'd  to 
other  eies. 

As  some  of  the  plaies  are  histories  they  are  not  alwayes 
mentioned  as  dramas,  but  I  will  now  make  out  a  table  (i' 
Cipher)  naming  all  you  are  to  decypher.  There  are  five 
Histories  as  followes:  The  Life  o'  Elizabeth,  The  Life 
of  Essex,  The  White  Rose  o'  Britaine,  The  Life  and 
Death  of  Edward  Third,  The  Life  of  Henry  th'  Sevent; 
five  Tragedies:  Mary  Queene  o'  Scots,  Robert  th'  Earle 
o'  Essex,  (my  late  brother)  Robert  th'  Earle  o'  Leicester 
(my  late  father),  Death  o'  Marlowe,  Anne  BuUen;  three 
Comedies:  Seven  Wise  Men  o'  th'  West,  Solomon  th' 
Second,  The  Mouse-Trap. 

The  keies  and  th'  arguments  do  not  follow  at  this 
point,  but  are  given  elsewhere.  There  are  three  notable 
Epics  which  are  from  Greeke  (Homer)  and  that  Latine 
(similar  partly  in  theame)  of  great  Yirgill;  and  a  history, 
in  prose  commixt  with  verse,  of  England  and  a  fewe 
Englishmen  whose  lives  in  greater  or  lesse  degree  affected 
ours. 

A  list  is  given  in  early  poemes — see  B.  1.  et  csetera — 
with  some  of  the  titles  you  have  so  lately  found.  Also  a 
fewe  small  poems  in  mania  of  our  early  workes  of  various 
kinds,  which  are  in  th'  French  language,  tell  a  tale  of 
.  love  when  life  in  its  prime  of  youth  and  strength  sang 
sweetlie  to  mine  eare,  and  in  th'  heart-beats  could  one 
song  e'er  be  heard, — and  yet  is  heard. 

F.  St.  A. 


IN  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.  203 

^As  our  work  still  needeth  a  patient  hand,  we  trust  th' 
decypherer  is  not  inclin'd  to  forsake  these  plays  at  present. 
Our  keies  for  th'  story  of  sweet  Marguerite,  (as  many  of 
its  lines  can  bee  found  when  the  play  that  is  now  in  your 
hand  shall  be  search'd)  are  heere  repeated  in  my  bi-literal 
Cypher  to  assure  the  finding  and  working  out  of  her 
historie  which  was  to  me  labour  of  love  to  write,  but  to 
my  sorrowe,  my  love  was  labour  lost.  Yet  a  certaine^ 
degree  of  sadnesse  is  to  th'  young  pleasurable,  and  I 
desir'd  by  no  means  to  be  free  of  the  paine.  ****** 

This  list  co'taineth  all  the  important  keys  as  they  were 
used  when  writing  [her]  history,  and  we  have  so  wrapt 
it  up  in  plain  rule',  or  signes,  we  are  co'fident  this  long 
tale  will  not  seeme  wearisome  to  you,  for  we  would  wish 
you  might  leave  out  nothing  of  a  history  of  one  who 
cannot  bee  banisht  from  my  memorie  while  this  heart  doth 
live  and  beat,  but  we  are  aware  it  cannot  interesse  others 
in  like  degree.  To  me  it  will  be  th'  dream,  day  and 
night,  that  never  will  be  ought  but  a  vision,  and  yet  is 
farre  more  reall  than  all  things  else. 

When  th'  history  shall  at  length  be  completed,  a  little 
booke  mention'd  some  time  since  may  be  written.  It  is 
French,  to  please  Margaret,  but  very  short  and  is  in 
severall  small  divisions.  It  is  writte'  with  th'  same  keys 
as  th'  preceeding,  but  th'  words  us'd  in  matching  parts 
together  were  of  French,  so  that  there  is  little  .dange'  of 
making  this  othe'  then  we  plann'd — a  book  of  French 
poems. 

Your  next  should  be  my  Life  at  th'  Court  of  France, 
then  a  drama,  Mary  Queene  of  Scots,  which  is  folowed 
by  anothe'  drama.     Work  out  the  play  with  th'  first  style 

*Taming  of  the  Shrew. 


204  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

before  you  begin  the  second,  for  they  were  written  to 
make  out  my  long  list  of  th'  histories. 

F.  B. 

*Any  play  publisht  as  Marlowe's,  came  from  th'  same 
source  as  all  which  you  will  now  work  out.  A  name 
hath  no  limits  or  bounds,  it  is  somewhat  like  Charitie. 
If  you  have  written  all  this  in  order — a  supposition  very 
improbable — you  know  the  names  chosen  as  masks. 

Greene,  Spense',  Peele,  Shakespeare,  Burton,  and  Mar- 
ley,  as  you  may  somewhere  see  it,  or,  as  it  is  usually  giv'n, 
Marlowe,  have  thus  farre  been  my  masks,  which  have 
caused  no  mark'd  surprise  because  they  have  familia' 
name'  on  th'  title  page,  not  fancied,  but  of  living  men,  at 
the  least,  of  men  who  have  lived. 

A  few  works  also  beare  th'  natae  o'  my  friend,  Ben 
Jonson — these  are  Sejanus  and  th'  Masques,  used  to  con- 
ceale  the  Illiads  chiefly,  and  to  make  use  o'  my  newe 
Cypher.  If  th'  writings  are  lost  no  part  o'  my  Cypher 
work  will  be  so  greatly  injured  as  Homer,  or  my  bolde, 
youthfull,  but  worthie  rendering  of  it  into  our  language. 
A  work  of  such  magnitude  as  th'  Iliads  could  not  well 
bee  twice  given  in  Cypher,  but  many  o'  th'  other  writings 
are  repeated  in  principall  things,  preventing  by  this 
device  th'  entire  losse  in  case  others  shall  bee  destroy'd. 

You  can  as  hath  beene  pointed  out  write  Marlowe,  a 
tragedy  of  great  interest  and  o'  some  dramatick  power, 
but  not  so  great  a  work,  nor  so  estimable  as  th'  tragicall 
histories  of  my  brother  and  father.  ISTot  all  our  exterior 
plays  are  of  equall  value  as  dramaticall  workes,  for  it  is 
often  difficult  if  even  possible,  to  write  manie  plays  that 

♦Merry  Wives  of  Windsor. 


» 


IN  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS. 


205 


contain  Cypher  materiall,  and  at  all  times  place  both  th' 
interior  and  exterionr  plays  duely,  giving  advantages  to 
merit  whether  it  may  appeare  in  one  or  another.  But 
fhave  said  what  must  be  needlesse  if  this  work  have  had 
faithfull  service  for  it  doth  prove  these  words  many  times 
ove'. 

As  this  play  is  now  studied  with  new  rules  for  my 
Cypher  work,  I  am  assured  progress  upon  it  may  truly 
improve.  If  paines  be  take'  to  see  such  names  as  are 
plac'd  here,  my  owne  as  to  most  men  I  am  known — Bacon 
—doth  plainly  stand  forth.  My  true  title  sheweth  in 
Cypher  againe  and  againe, — Francis  First,  King  of  Great 
Britaine  and  Ireland, — or  in  playes  of  a  somewhat  earlier 
date,  various  stiles:  Th'  Prince;  the  true  heire  to  the 
throne;  th'  Prince  of  Wales;  th'  first-bom  sonne  t'  Eliza- 
beth; Sonne  to  th'  Queene  and  heyre-apparent,  since  I 
was  entitl'd  in  justice  to  all  these  before  th'  death  of 
Elizabeth,  my  mother,  th'  virgin — as  she  wish'd  to  be 
consider'd — who  rul'd  with  a  strong  [hand]  over  Eng- 
land, and  me. 

Her  wUl  was  like  stem  iron-hearte'  kings  of  days  o' 
yore,  but  she  was  vain  withal  and  loved  th'  admiration 
of  all  men,  especially  of  princely  visitors  *  coming  t'  wooe. 
All  suitors  (much  as  th'  first  commer)  for  some  reason 
had  such  hope  of  successe  as  turn'd  some  heads,  no 
mentio'  being  made  of  impediments, — th'  Duke  of  Anjou 
paying  the  compliment  of  an  arrangement  whereby  their 
sonnes  should  receive  instructio'  in  Roman  Catholicke 
faith,  the  daughters  in  th'  Protestant.  Such  play  did 
well  agree,  su'ting  Elizabeth's  vain  soule  and  nursing  a 
kind  of  pride,  akin  to  ill-starr'd  Marguerite's,  and  to  her 
sadder  fated  mother's — faire  Anne  Bullen's. 


♦Measure  for  Measure. 


206  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Her  wisedom,  however^  saved  her  in  this,  as  th'  love 
of  devotion  was  th'  surface  of  [her]  characte' — not  a 
main  curent.  It  will  be  noted  when  her  whole  life  is 
decipher'd,  that  she  did  inherit  much  of  th'  sterne  dis- 
position that  characterized  her  sire  and  grandsire.  Henry, 
sire,  shew'd  it  lesse,  as  it  mingled  with  heartinesse  and 
fresh  spirites,  but  as  every  Tudor,  downe  from  our  ances- 
tors to  one  nam'd  Robert,  loved  his  owne  will  ,and  his 
owne  waye,  "Merry  Harry,"  marke  you,  conceal'd  some 
•of  it  under  a  maske  of  good-nature.  As  this  part  may 
«oon  be  done  I  put  my  word-keyes  in  all  o'  th'  rest  o' 
these  comedies.     *     •Jt     *     * 

With  these  keyes  our  historic  of  Elizabeth  is  to  be  de- 
cypher'd.  If  care  be  taken  to  keep  th'  parts  separate  in 
writing-deske  and  drawers,  untill  the  table  of  words  that 
is  us'd  in  bringing  all  these  parts  together  shall  have 
beene  prepared,  none  can  get  astray  and  th'  work  will  be 
made  easier.  This  part  o'  my  charge  to  you  is  oft 
repeated  since  it  is  of  prime  importance,  and  a  prope', 
constant  observance  of  the  same  will  greatlie  facilitate 
this  task. 

You  have  neede  both  of  patient  and  orderly  habits  to 
become  a  good  decyph'rer,  and  you  must  aim  to  attains 
these  if  not  already  th'  fortunate  possessor  of  all  th'  desir- 
able vertues  of  a  Cypher  reader.  Assuredly  th'  work  that 
we  have  spent  all  th'  best  yeeres  of  life  upon,  would  not 
clayme  too  wide  notice  nor  too  great  fervou'. 

Some  do  not  fully  know  o'  th'  imminent  perill  that 
overhung  my  life  at  th'  time  the  plays  were  put  forth,  nor 
could  one  word  of  my  birth  and  title  bee  publisht  if  not 
wrapt  upp,  mixed,  disguis'd.  Hence,  if  the  decyphere' 
faile  me,  it  will  never  be  scene  of  anie  eye  save  my  owne. 


IN  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.  207 

iNTone  is  able  to  put  all  th'  fragments  of  history  in  place  if 
he  bee  uninstructed.  It  is  a  seal'd  book  if  it  have  not  mj 
faithfull  interpreter. 

*  We  place  as  great  vaiue  upon  this  play  as  we  shall 
[on]  any  we  can  \^Tite,  for  it  is  our  own  fathe',  his  life, 
a  theme  soe  much  in  my  owne  dark  memory  that  I  must 
needes  think  of  it  oft,  and  thus  its  wrongs  moving  strong 
indignation  within  me,  my  tongue  and  penne  are  fired  to 
eloquence.  And  th'  scenes  do  shew  th'  fury  o'  th'  heart 
within  them — th'  words  bume  with  a  celestiall  light,  for 
to  my  soul  it  lent  its  ray  divine,  even  as  I  wrote. 

Whosoever  may  question  assertions  that  tend  to  shew  t' 
mankinde  evidences  of  a  divine  thought  interfusing  th' 
human  minde,  hath  but  to  prove  it  by  experiment.  He 
would  not  bee  ready  to  cavil,  or  laugh  to  scorn  this  asser- 
tion, which  I  may  repeate  anon,  that  Divine  aide  was  given 
mee  in  my  work.  I  have,  at  th'  least,  accomplished  a 
great  work  in  fewe  yeares,  work  of  such  a  difficult  nature 
that  no  one  hand  could  accomplish,  except  other  than 
myselfe  upheld  or  directed  it.  This  howeve'  doth  not 
further  our  fame,  or  affect  this  work  now,  to  taxe  your 
most  subtile  Avit  and  penetration,  and  should  not  further 
take  th'  time  requir'd  to  complete  our  work. 

Two  comedies  we  hid  in  Ciphe',  and  in  the  lists  nam'd, 
have  no  more  worth  than  many  others  but  will  repaie  th' 
trouble  of  decyphering,  for  they  tell  th'  storie  of  my 
maskes  which  began  in  Th'  Seven  Wise  Men  of  th'  West, 
as  you  know,  and  have  all  th'  men  as  th'  actours  that  are 
nam'd  in  it.  For  these  you  will  seeke  keyes  to  the  one 
nam'd  as  Solomon  th'  Second.     They  are  i'  th'— 

(Tale  of  Troy  &  Hiren  the  Fairie  Greek  should  follow.) 


*Muoh  Ado  About  Nothing. 


208  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

*  You  can  now  without  difficulty  write  th'  three  come- 
dies that  were  shewn  you.  All  th'  keies  have  beene  given, 
and  th'  stories  related  in  so  clear  and  fine  a  manner  that 
you  have  onely  to  apply  yourselfe  and  persevere.  The 
work  is  ready  and  doth  wait  your  hand,  as  blocks  of  stone 
that  are  prepar'd  and  polished  for  th'  builder,  aye,  and 
marked  that  each  may  be  fitted  into  its  place. 

This  aydeth  very  greatly  th'  taske  of  bringing  th'  parts, 
that  have  beene  separated,  backe  agayne  into  th'  proper 
relations.  If  care  be  taken  it  should  not  require  great 
skill,  nor  more  yeares  then  I  have  giv'n  to  th'  work. 
Patience  should  have  perfect  labour  in  my  devices,  also 
most  constant  and  untiring  perseverance,  for  these  are 
principal  vertues  in  a  decipherer.  And  as  I  keep  the 
future  ever  in  my  plann,  looking  for  my  reward,  not  to 
my  times  or  countreymen,  but  to  a  people  very  far  off, 
and  an  age  not  like  our  owne,  but  a  second  golden  age  of 
learning,  so  keepe  your  owne  thoughts  on  a  day  to  be, 
when  all  these  workes  being  seen  of  men,  your  fame,  with 
mine,  shall  ring  th'  earth  around  and  eccho  to  th'  Ages 
that  are  still  farre  down  Time's  shadowie  waye.  Truth 
shall  come  forth  at  your  word,  and  lay  these  cerement* 
aside,  as  Lazarus,  when  he  heard  th'  Master  speak,  arose. 

St.  ALBA'. 


*  Do  royall  brothers  ever  get  so  sad  of  heart  as  my 
dearlye  loved  brother,  but  we  are  kin  and  we  are  of  royal 
blood  too.  Our  lofty  aym — hopes  by  a  new  sorrow  and 
wrathfull  Erinnys  frighted — then  shewed  duty  how 
much  there  is  to  winne. 


♦Winter's  Tale.  *Henry  the  Sixth,  Part  I. 


IN  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.  209 

Crownes  must  be  as  of  old,  night  and  daytime  well 
attended,  or  some  wild  rout,  waiting  in  ambush  Eapin's 
black,  opportune  time,  without  a  warning  steal  th'  glory 
o'  th'  land,  leaving  behind  them  meerely  desolatio'.  This 
was  narrowly  averted  i'  England,  securely  as  her  crown  is 
watcht,  nor  did  these  empty  headed  tools  do  ought  but 
obey  a  superior  minde, — that  of  my  brother  Essex.  Th' 
rebels  might  do  his  bidding  meerely — that  was  th'  limitt 
of  their  power  or  abilitie — and  he  alone  did  lay  his  plann. 

Had  it  not  met  the  overturn  deserv'd,  th'  younger  of 
th'  sonns  would  inherite  ere  the  elder.  By  law  this  could 
occur  onely  when  th'  rightfull,  or,  as  we  name  him  in  our 
countrey,  heire-apparent  hath  waived  his  rights.  As  I 
was  known,  not  as  his  brother  onely,  but  as  the  Queene's 
first-borne,  such  plots  should  at  best  naturally  awaite  my 
full  knowledge  and  consent.  But  puft  up  thiis  with  shew 
o'  militarie  glory,  an  entrance  to  power  (whose  signes  th' 
robes,  th'  crowne,  scepter  and  state  so  work'd  o'  his  in- 
flam'd  phantasy,  as  to  have  farre  more  valew  then  royal 
sword),  openi'g  with  very  small  tap  on  his  oute'  doore,  it 
may  bee  onelie  naturall,  and  easily  acompted  for,  though 
not  so  easy  to  meet. 

This  was  much  aggravated  in  our  mindes  by  some  pri- 
vate assurances  that  had  so  deceyv'd  us,  that  we  saw  not  a 
signe  of  danger,  but  trusted  his  word,  nor  imputed  those 
assurances  to  ought  but  good  will,  expecti'g  right  and 
honest  trustworthinesse  of  Robert  D —  as  a  gentleman, 
both  by  that  royall  blood  that  is  our  heirship,  and  by  the 
old-time  gentle  nurture  he  receiv'd  as  ward  o'  Devereux. 

In  fine  his  early  youth  was  lightly  passed,  but  after  he 
did  know  that  'twas  th'  Queene  that  gave  liim  life,  he 
grew  imperious  and  (when  brought  to  Court  by  our  truely 


210  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

ingenious  father,  whom  an  evill  sprite  much  troubled — 
e'en  a  jealousy  o'  some  o'  th'  Queene's  favoured  lords  that 
did  attend  her),  his  will  shew'd  its  true  source,  and  re- 
veal'd  th'  origin  of  th'  young  Csesar.  And  in  th'  after 
time  it  could  well  be  discem'd  that  he  did  draw  deception 
from  it.  Our  fountain  o'  life  hath  much  earthie  sub- 
stance. Ev'n  i'  this  royall  source  were  slimy  spots,  and 
fro'  it  our  blood  took  some  slighte  poyson,  which  assuredly 
could  not  be  accredited  to  th'  noble  daughter  o'  Sir 
Francis  KnowUes  on  the  parte  of  young  Essex,  and  lesse 
on  the  part  of  myselfe,  to  a  descendant  o'  honorable  Sir 
Anthony  Cooke.  But  'twas  not  poyson  alone  that  we 
took  thus,  nor  shall  succeeding  violls  beare  one  half  so 
great  drops  of  black  venom,  for  as  it  commingleth  in  an- 
other fountain  with  nobler  blood  it  becometh  pure. 

To  our  mother  is  th'  fearlesnesse  that  Essex  shewed  to 
be  traced  directlie,  and  that  promptnesse  of  judgement  in 
a  sudden  calamity;  but  with  sufficie't  time  given  to  delib- 
erate, Essex,  ev'n  more  than  she,  would  shew  a  variety  o' 
opinions  in  so  swift  succession,  you  must  use  much  witt 
to  gain  one  hee  would  give  his  name  unto.  When  their 
wills  should  be  matcht,  'twere  no  light  task  t'  decide  as 
to  the  result.  Like  his  mother  i'  tempe'  he  could  break, 
but  nere  even  slightly  bend,  and  in  the  most  of  such 
trialls,  no  end  that  most  exasperating  method  o'  contest 
resulted  in,  could  bee  worth  much  as  it  was  more  fre- 
quently accidentall  then  plann'd, — therefore  th'  peace 
could  never  long  endure. 

Such  a  flitting  sunshine  is  sometimes  th'  brighte',  more 
golden,  more  dazzling.  Those  who  were  of  a  discreete 
dissposition,  bask'd  in  th'  rayes,  and  smil'd  while  faire 
skies  did  bend  over  us,  but  none  knew  when  th'  tempest's 


IN  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.  211 

wrath  might  change  our  bright  daye  to  blacke  night,  and 
a  darknesse  more  dire  (said  some)  then  Egypt's  plague, 
cover  heaven's  dome. 

Essex  nere  did  ought  in  a  spirit  of  revenge,  but  sim- 
plie  that  hee  might  winne  th'  due  rewards  of  courage  or 
of  valor,  if  this  doth  in  any  manner  better  term  such  ver- 
tue.  His  nature  was  not  small,  pettie,  or  ev'n  dwarfed  in 
development.  It  was  larger  in  many  directions  then  any 
who  now  censure  and  decry  him,  possesse.  Among  mil- 
lions a  voyce  like  his  reach'd  our  listening,  most  attentive 
ears.  Wanting  that  sound,  no  other  is  sweete  and  this 
silence  is  a  paine. 

That  hee  did  wrong  me,  now  is  to  bee  forgot,  and 
wiped  fro'  th'  minde's  recollection,  in  my  thoughts  of  the 
evill  that  hath  come  to  us  (chiefly  to  myselfe)  by  this 
rebellion  o'  th'  Earle,  but  th'  love  and  tender  regard  that 
marked  all  our  first  sunny  young  days  when  wee  were  not- 
oft  to  be  found  out  o'  harmonic,  hath  swaye.  Those 
houres  still  live  in  my  memory,  more  then  our  first  very 
open  and  sore  disputes. 

But  one  thing,  more  even  then  pleasing  and  happy 
variation  of  this  one  theame,  crowds  on  my  braine.  0, 
Heavenly  Day!  illume  this  night  of  Earth,  for  I  am  loste 
in  the  many  turnes  of  this  wide  waste  o'  desart.  Let  light 
divine  shine  as  in  Moses,  his  weary  way,  when  hee  was 
guided  through  th'  sea,  across  wilds  untrack'd  to  lands  th' 
people  were,  after  tryall,  given  to  possesse  in  peace,  and 
lead  me  unto  my  rest. 

Th'  paine — th'  memory  of  my  part  in  th'  trval — hath 
power  to  make  th'  brightest  day  grow  dun.  Saving  my 
own  life  in  this  way,  is  paying  much  for  that  I  would 
indeed  faine  lose;  my  life  no  longer  seemeth  fay  re,  save 


212  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

as  I  spend  th'  time  for  other's  good.  Th'  labour  of  hands 
and  head  shal  better  raise  my  monument  up  to  men's 
sight,  then  marble  f  aire,  choyse  ebonie,  or  brasse. 

The  workes  I  do,  mid  rankes  truely  ignorant  of  such 
attempts,  would  seeme  greater  then  th'  parts  th'  men  o' 
my  times  have  knowne  of.  Indeed  it  may  not  winn  any 
belief,  since  it  would  seem  more  then  *  th'  hand  of  but  a 
mortall  could  (by  anie  manner  of  working  at  this  daye 
knowne  to  authours)  unayded  and  alone  performe.  When 
it  shall  beare  more  fruit  then  the  penne  of  this  truly  note- 
worthy youth  that  all  praise,  or  that  philosopher,  whom 
few  even  read  to  understand,  the  cause  is  clear  enough  for 
you  to  acquainte  all  men  with  so  much  truth,  which  is 
simply  use  o'  th'  time. 

I  do  so  emploie  myself e  that  the  minde  doth  not  sooner 
enter  into  labyrinthian  turnings  then  my  hand  beginneth 
its  part  of  th'  labour.  When  you  do  so  completelie  applie 
your  efforts  and  attention,  you  should  accompte  it  to  your 
owne  great  gain,  so  greatly  th'  judicious  use  o'  your  much 
valued  howres  shall  bring  reward. 

A  Cypher  historic  is  hidden  with  pains  herein,  which 
when  my  name  doth  stand  thereto  affixt  can  but  allure 
both  busy  publique  men,  and  the  idling,  fawning,  woman- 
like sorts  that  even  crown'd  head  cannot  avoid.  Th'  work 
is  fill'd  with  events  so  interesting  'twill  sometime  appeare 
to  you  like  dreaming  when,  even  from  our  workes  which 
tell  th'  secrets  that  must  yet  be  kept  from  some  men,  seven 
distinct  and  much  consider'd,  carefully  poised  and  rightlie 
estimed,  prudent  causes,  at  present  warn  our  best  friends 
it  is  too  soon  to  declare  for  their  prince.  And  I  some- 
times am  in  feare  that  'twill  come  at  a  most  untimely  (if 

♦Henry  the  Sixth,  Part  III. 


IN  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.  213 

not  post  mortem)  period,  for  it  hath  even  now  turned  th' 
marking  point  o'  five  decades.  This  then  is  more  then  a 
half  century  o'  such  unsatisfied  longi'g  and  desire  for 
justice. 

Old  men  have  been  laid  i'  th'  tombe  and  children  have 
become  men,  yet  this  matte'  is  in  its  feeble  conditio'.  'Tis 
still  i'  th'  cradle,  nor  can  I  have  great  hope  to  see  th' 
maturity  of  this  dearly  lov'd,  long  cherisht  dreame, 
promise — I  might  use  a  still  stronge'  or  truer  word  since 
it  is  sometime — expectation.  Then,  too,  sometimes  th' 
prize  doth  seeme  quite  near — th'  bowe  in  all  th'  clouds 
doth  give  me  most  trust  in  th'  Divine  Eye  watching  th' 
course  of  humane  life,  guarding,  guiding  every  footstep, 
and  sharing  our  manie  woes. 

At  times  a  divinity  seemeth  truly  to  carve  rudely  hew'd 
ends  into  beauty,  such  as  God  must  plan  when  we  are 
shaped  in  His  thought,  inasmuch  as  He  can,  aye.  He  doth, 
see  th'  whole  of  life  ere  we  draw  th'  first  trembling  breath. 
This  doth  ayde  us  daily  to  climbe  th'  hights  of  Pisgah, 
where,  crossing  over,  our  souls  do  see  th'  land  of  our  long- 
ing desire. 

Mark  my  word-key es  to  unlock  this  play:  They  are 
question,  or  any  othe'  method  or  forme  by  which  th'  in- 
quiry I  make  is  shewn  in  th'  play.  Should  you  see,  now, 
any  answer  lightly  on  tip  o'  toe  come  slily  in,  make  sweete 
her  due  welcome.  Shee  is  th'  faire  little  wife — th'  con- 
sorte — whose  assistance  is  truly  no  way  so  unnecessarie  as 
you  must  think,  or  you  would  look  for  her  at  once.  Then 
find  Queene,  th'  key  for  my  owne  portion  of  our  history, 
with  names  of  royalty.  To  the  words  which  pertain  to 
this  realm  add  France,  for  it  must  contain  in  it  one  page 
of  my  storie  which  some  o'  my  latest  books  cannot  give. 


214  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Paris,  with  Frencli  stile  or  title  make  up  th'  rest,  and  th' 
first  two  acts  are  prepar'd.     Work  them  out. 

*  In  my  work  intitl'd  David,  the  tale  that  now  is  con- 
tayned  in  Iambi,  soe  arrang'd  to  preserve  stately  ancient 
usages  and  formes  of  speech,  I  have  hidden  th'  most  of 
th'  storie  of  Margaret's  life,  as  any  parts  lent  eyther  grace 
to  its  scenes  or  pathetick  strains  to  its  story.  Of  necessity, 
th'  birth  of  th'  young  son,  to  coste  so  cruell  ill,  doth  have 
no  sort  of  place  within  her  story.  It  appertayneth  to 
another  story  with  quite  simila'  keies  except  the  last 
named. 

The  most  of  a  play  in  this  same  name  (Gre.  Peele's), 
The  Arraignment  o'  Paris,  continueth  th'  stories  o'  Mar- 
garet's manie  affaires  du  cceur,  and  being  used  also  for  th' 
Iliad,  must  have  your  attentive  eyes  here  at  all  times  to 
select  these  keies  and  keep  th'  two  separate.  Kemembe' 
the  Hiad  is  often  to  bee  found  in  other  works  and,  if  time 
were  without  end,  it  should  be  left  untill  all  th'  other 
matter  were  decypher'd;  so  would  my  second  taske  be 
easie'  and  not  lesse  pleasant. 

It  is  a  fine  art — this  o'  keeping  each  o'  these  twain 
apart,  nor  losing  th'  rout  o'  keyes  (much  like  untrain'd 
soldiers)  nor  commixing  th'  parts  that  are  to  be  conjoin'd, 
just  as  stones  that  forme  our  pallaces  are  skilfully  joyn'd, 
one  by  one,  after  th'  designe  trac'd  by  th'  master's  hand: 
that  wonderful!  grace  shewed  itselfe  in  this  minde  ev'n 
before  the  plann  was  fully  limn'd.  Th'  decypherer  must 
truely  note  that  th'  part  he  must  take  in  th'  work  is  that 
of  any  labourer,  th'  designe  being  perfected  yeares  before 
his  eyes  saw  th'  light:  but  no  surer  is  honour  to  the  name 
o'  th'  inventour  then  to  the  decypherer,  for  they  must 

♦Coriolanus. 


IN  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.  215 

assist  as  though  they  were  th'  braine  and  th'  hands  joyn'd 
in  man's  body;  and,  with  no  one  to  ayde  in  th'  taske,  all 
might  remaine  here  unseen  till  th'  end  o'  time. 

Therefore,  I  beseech  you  serve  me  now  untill  th'  work 
shal  be  done,  for  fame  is  nearer  then  men  know.  None 
who  hear  of  this  work  could  let  so  curious  a  labour  of 
your  hand  remain  hid  from  them.  So  as  Rumour  doth 
hasten  afarre,  your  name  will  be  heard  from  shore  to 
shore.  Now  must  your  time  out-valew  gold — th'  houres 
seem  Jewells,  dayes  th'  diadem,  for  surelie  in  our  wise  use 
o'  it,  doth  our  moment — th'  jot  so  minute  'tis  seldom  rec- 
ogniz'd — appear  precious. 

This  must  have  been,  many  times  over,  said  to  you  if 
th'  whole  of  this  Cipher  hath  been  undone,  yet  I  pray 
your  patience  for  th'  divers  wayes  and  th'  repetitio's  used, 
since  not  a  sign  doth  give  me  any  right  to  hope  this  would 
be  taken  up  where  I  began,  and  foUow'd  till  th'  great 
story  were  found.  I  put  every  direction,  as  hath  beene 
so  often  said,  in  divers  of  my  newe  workes.  This  plann 
will  proove  so  clear  to  your  judgement,  then,  that  it  must 
quiet  all  doubt  of  my  taste.  Th'  end  shall  convince  much 
more  indeed  then  argument.  It  is,  to  a  work  of  so  secret 
nature  th'  chief e  meanes  that  doth  remain:  therefore  I 
entreate  you  to  bee  most  dilligent  and  staye  not  till  all 
bee  finished.  If  all  keys  have  beene  mark'd  and  assorted, 
the  joining  can  proceed  at  once,  if  you  note  the  words. 

F.  B. 

*At  first  my  plann  of  Cipher  work  was  this:  to  shew 
secrets  that  could  not  be  publish'd  openly.  This  did  so 
well  succeed  that  a  different  (not  dangerous)  theme  was 

♦Titus  Andronicus.  \ 


216  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

entrusted  to  it;  and  after  each  was  sent  out  a  newe  desire 
possess'd  me,  nor  left  me  day  or  night  untill  I  took  up 
againe  th'  work  I  love  so  fondly. 

Some  school  verses  went  into  one,  since  I  did  deeme 
them  good — worthie  o'  preservation  in  my  truly  precious 
casket  studded  thicke  with  houres  f arre  above  price.  Even 
my  translations  of  Homer's  two  immortall  poemes  as  well 
as  many  more  of  lesse  valew  have  a  place  in  my  Cypher; 
and  th'  two  our  most  worthy  Latine  singer  left  in  his  lan- 
guage I  have  translated  and  used  in  this  waye — Virgill's 
^neid  and  Eclogues.  Onely  a  fewe  of  those  I  have 
turn'd  from  most  vigorous  Latine,  were  put  out.  Most  o' 
th'  translations  as  I  have  just  said,  apeare  i'  th'  work  and 
must  not  be  held  of  little  worth,  for  assuredly  they  are  my 
best  and  most  skill'd  work. 

It  is  a  great  art  to  English  stately  Greeke  verse  rightly, 
and  if  you  turne  it  againe  into  prope'  measure,  eyther  you 
must  sacrifice  th'  sound  or  wrest  the  thought;  and  th' 
exact  words  are  often  wanting  to  voyce  its  wondrous  lan- 
guage. It  is  famed  the  wide  earth  arou'd,  for  its  lofti- 
nesse  of  diction  and  its  sounding  nu'bers. 

Th'  Uliads  and  parts  o'  th'  adventures  of  Ulyses  fur- 
nish our  chief  examples,  as  no  Greeke -poet  in  any  /Eon 
hath  approacht  his  style  or  his  imagination.  Eegarding 
Virgill's  ^neid,  we  must  honor  it  among  all  Latine 
poems,  but  it  doth  lacke  Homer's  incomparable,  marvel- 
lously witching  art,  strong  diction,  true  spirit,  fire  of  an 
immortal  youth. 

In  a  play  is  imitated  action  of  heroes,  in  the  Illiads  is 
th'  reall,  the  living  scene.  You  see  a  battaile  and  hear  th' 
cries  o'  th'  Trojans,  and  see  th'  Greekes  sweepe  on  in 
noyselesse  grandeur  like  devouring  flames:  you  feel  how 


IN  SHAKESPEARE  PLAYS.  217 

Achilles'  angry  spiritt  swelleth  in  his  savage  breast  as  he 
sitteth  by  th^  sea  eating  his  heart,  aad  Agamemno'  tri- 
umpht  over  the  bravest,  worthiest  Greeke  that  sailed  to 
Hion. 

In  this  short  play  you  must  get  many  o'  th'  lines  of  th' 
great  poem  of  which  I  speake.  You  have  th'  keyes,  if  as 
manie  plays  bee  decypher'd  by  this  time  as  I  suppose,  also 
numerous  rules  for  joyning  these  small  portio's  into  per- 
fect Iliads. 

L.  VBRULA'. 


KOBEET  BURTON. 

ANATOMY  OF  MELANCHOLY. 
1628. 

Now  as  to  my  Ciphe'  alphabets  here,  th'  letters  will  be 
thought  to  be  like  those  of  other  editio's.  It  will  bee 
quickly  noted  as  our  work  shall  be  followM  with  care,  manie 
subtile  innovationshave  been  made  that  so  change  eachlater 
issue  that  it  is  almost  as  unlike  th'  precedent  editions  as 
another  or  different  work.  This  made  it  necessarie  to  alter 
th'  Bi-literall  Ciphe',  and  as  it  doth  contain  now  a  verie  dif- 
ferent story,  we  prythee,  do  not  passe  it  without  giving  your 
attention  to  these  Italicke  letters,  for  a  great  portion  of 
your  aids  are  to  be  found  in  my  third  edition. 

Studie  our  others  by  all  our  early  work,  but  those  which 
we  put  out  now  are  to  bee  emploi'd  when  th'  two  Latine 
workes  are  to  be  written.  All  work  in  margine  of  my  first 
will  be  used  for  that  Latine  work  and  may  be  left  untill  the 
last;  that  of  our  second  and  third  were  to  aid  you  in  bring- . 
ing  out  Homer's  bookes,  and  may  bee  decipher'd  at  once 
after  the  part  you  are  engaged  upon  shall  be  finisht. 

And  you  should  make  a  great  eff orte  in  writing  th'  Ciphe' 
historic,  to  followe  closelie  my  rules,  drawn  out  and  ren- 
der'd  most  crystalline  like  polisht  mirrours  of  Steele,  for  my 
whole  work  upon  this  doth  teach,  t'  my  onely  interprete', 
something  new  and  helpful  1  to  th'  other  important  Cyphe' 
not  yet  written  out.     Let  not  my  work  be  lost,  for  'tis  of 

218 


IN  ANATOMY  OF  MELANCHOLY.  219 

importance  to  many  besides  yourselfe,  and  no  historie  may 
be  complete  without  it.  Indeed  tbe  whole  national!  record 
must  bee  chang'd  by  a  revelation  of  such  a  kinde,  but  if 
I  have  not  your  aide,  no  eie  but  my  decypherer's,  when  I 
am  resting  from  my  labours,  shall  read  that  which  I  have 
prepar'd  with  such  great  paines  for  posterity.  Therefore 
must  hand  and  pen,  as  wel'  as  th'  braine  and  a  most  ready 
and  quicke  eye,  now  effect  th'  rest.  I  must  leave  it  in 
your  wise  care  in  future,  for  my  light  o'  life  must  ere  long 
be  extinguisht,  and  again  I  do  entreate  that  you  be  so  dili- 
gent that  my  great  labour  for  truth  shall  not  lie  in  embryo 
longer,  but  come  forth,  when  th'  time  shall  be  accomplisht, 
unto  th'  day.  Study  to  ayd,  not  to  put  a  straw  in  th'  way. 
Under  much  of  th'  outer  huske  is  th'  kemell,  worth  th' 
search  of  many  a  yeare,  utterly  lost  to  th'  world  till  it  have 
beene  brought  forth. 

As  hath  been  said,  much  of  th'  material!  of  th'  Iliad  may 
be  found  here,  as  well  as  Homer,  his  second  wondrous  storie, 
telling  of  Odysseus,  his  worthie  adventures.  Th'  first 
nam'd  is  of  greater  worth,  beautie  and  interesse,  alone,  in 
my  estimation,  then  all  my  other  work  together,  for  it  is 
th'  crowning  triumph  of  Homer's  pen;  and  he  outstrips  all 
th'  others  in  th'  race,  as  though  his  wits  had  beene  Ata- 
lanta's  heeles.  ISText  we  see  Virgill,  and  close  behind  them, 
striving  to  attaine  unto  th'  hights  which  they  mounted,  do 
I  presse  on  to  th'  lofty  goale.  In  th'  plays  lately  publisht, 
I  have  approacht  my  modell  closelie,  and  yet  it  dolh  ever 
seem  beyond  my  attainment. 

Here  are  the  diverse  bookes,  their  arguments  and  sundry 
examples  of  th'  lines,  in  our  Bi-literall  Cipher. 


220  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD. 


Th'  Greekes  maintain'd  th'  siege  of  Illion  for  nine  yeares 
without  taking  th'  city  or  winning  Menelaus'  Queene  away 
from  Prince  Paris,  who  had  stolen  her,  'tis  said,  with  her 
full  and  free  consent,  and  defending  his  mad  deed  with 
equall  spirit,  prolong'd  th'  warre.  In  th'  meantime  many 
townes  having  beene  sack'd,  and  the  inhabitants  destroi'd  or 
led  captive  into  th'  campe  of  th'  Greekes,  both  Agamemnon 
and  worthie  Achilles  were  allotted  each  a  beautiful  maiden, 
Briseis  falling  to  the  lot  of  Achilles,  and  unto  Agamemnon, 
Chriseis,  th'  beautifull  virgin  daughter  to  Apollo's  priest, 
Chryses.  In  th'  first  booke  Achilles  is  introduced  very 
angry, — in  truth  th'  entire  work  is  th'  storie  of  his  anger, — 
as  may  be  seene  in  th'  first  two  verses  of  the  poem,  which 
are  plac'd  below: 

O  goddesse,  sing  of  th'  destructive  \vrath 
Of  fierce  Achilles,  Peleus'  worthy  sonne. 

Kor  was  his  anger  easily  appeased,  as  all  learned  unto 
their  sorrowe.  For  th'  priest  Chryses  came  to  th'  vaste 
armament  of  Greekes,  making  supplication  for  his  virgin 
daughter,  and  bringing  treasures  inestimable;  bearing  also 
th'  fillets  of  Apollo  on  the  golden  scepter  that  ho  carried. 
Then  all  th'  Greekes  lifted  their  voyces  in  a  gTeat  shout 
saying:  "Deliver  this  priest's  daughter  lest  Apollo  be 
angry  with  us;  accepte  th'  ransomes  also,  that  th'  treasures 
of  the  warriours  be  increas'd."  However,  to  Agamemnon 
It  caused  sore  displeasure,  nor  could  priest  nor  people  per- 
suade him  to  set  th'  mayden  at  libertie,  and  restore  her  to 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  221 

her  father;  but  he  dismissed  th'  old  man  evilly,  bidding 
him  depart  precipitatelie  lest  he  should  abide  it  to  his  cost. 

And  th'  priest,  in  silence,  walk'd  along  th'  shore  of  the 
resounding  sea.  After  awhile,  with  many  a  prayer  and 
teare,  th'  old  man  cried  aloud  unto  Apollo,  and  his  voyce 
was  heard. 

Th'  god  in  anger  sent  his  arrows  into  the  Grecian  campe, 
killing  at  first  onely  dogs  and  mules,  but  dt  last  he  aim'd 
his  arrowes  against  the  Greekes,  and  thousands  died  of  pes- 
tilence. For  ten  daies  his  cruell  shafts  sped  on  his  errands 
of  gloomy  death,  and  there  were  high  heaps  of  slaine  war- 
riours,  nor  did  the  smoke  of  the  funerall  piles  cease  from 
day  to  day.  Achilles  then  summon'd  a  councill,  and 
charg'd  Calchas,  if  he  could  tell  th'  cause  of  th'  punish- 
ment inflicted  upon  the  Grecian  armie,  that  he  be 
couragious  to  declare  it,  relying  upon  th'  protection  Achilles 
pledged  him,  should  any  in  authoritie  dislike  what  he  musfl 
reveale;  whereupon  he  said,  it  was  because  that  Agamem- 
non had  ill-treated  a  priest  of  th'  god,  in  refusing  th'  maid 
Chrisei's  to  hei^  father,  when  he  came  bearing  the  scepter 
of  th'  great  god  and  his  fillets,  with  inestimable  ransomes 
as  a  recompence. 

Thereupon  an  altercation  hotly  rag'd  'twixt  Achilles  and 
his  commander,  which  Nestor  appeas'd.  Agamemnon  sent 
Chrisei's  to  her  father,  but  immediately  requir'd  his  her- 
alds to  go  to  th'  tent  of  Achilles  and  to  bring  Achilles' 
maid,  Briseis,  unto  him.  Th'  maid  obeyed  in  quiet  griefe, 
but  Achilles  sat  down  by  th'  sea,  and  made  complainte  to 
Thetis,  old  Xereus'  daughter,  mother  to  our  hero.  Soe 
plaintive  was  his  cry,  th'  nymphe  hastily  left  her  sea-cave, — 
where  she  sat  by  th'  side  of  her  sire,  as  some  blooming 
flowe'   upon   its   stalk, — and   made   effort   to    comfort   th' 


222 


BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 


heart  of  proud  Achilles.  She  promis'd  to  goe  to  Olympus, 
when  Jove  return'd  from  a  twelve  dayes'  stay  with  th' 
belov'd  people  o'  th'  Ethiopians,  pleading  for  grace  at 
th'  feet  of  great  Jove,  and  praying  that  th'  victorie  should 
bee  given  to  th'  Trojan  arms  untill  th'  Greekes  should 
honor  Achilles  againe  as  hee  deserv'd. 

Upon  th'  morning  of  th'  twelfe  day,  faire  Thetis  arose 
from  th'  sea  and  climb'd  Olympus'  top,  where  finding  Jove 
sitting  aparte  upon  th'  highest  peake,  she  twined  one  arme 
round  the  knees  of  th'  god,  put  up  th'  other  hand  to  lifts 
his  chin  and  earnestly  besought  him,  if  eve'  that  she  by 
word  or  deede  had  given  him  pleasure,  her  request  be 
granted  and  Achilles  honour'd  of  all  th'  Greekes.  To  this 
hee  consented  after  a  long  delay  and  confirmed  his  promise 
by  a  nod. 

But  Juno  discover'd  Thetis,  and,  according  to  her  usuall 
jealous  manner,  was  soe  loud  in  denouncing  Jove,  every 
god  and  goddesse  was  affrighted.  Then  her  sonne,  Vulcan, 
interfering,  soothed  her  and  averted  calamitie  in  th' 
heavens. 

II. 

Jove  had  no  rest;  sleepe  came  not  unto  him;  all  night 
he  lay  upon  his  couch  of  gold,  devising  meanes  to  make 
his  promise  good,  nimph  Thetis  wonne  from  him,  and 
finally  sent  a  pernicious  dream  to  Agamemnon — a  dream 
of  victories  unayded  by  Achilles. 

Agamemnon  rose,  and  putting  on  th'  regall  garments, 
went  out  to  summon  th'  Grecian  lords  to  councill  and 
impart  his  vision;  but  at  the  same  time  hee  suggested  a 
plan  contrary  to  his  owne  wishes,  meerely  to  try  th'  temper 
of  th'  Greekes,  and  propos'd  to  urge  a  returne  unto  Argos. 
None  should  in  truth  goe  away,  since  Ulysses  should  use 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  223 

much  eloquence  to  tume  aside  or  send  back  all  who  would 
depart.  Thereupon  all  th'  Greekes  were  assembled,  and 
Agamemnon,  leaning  upon  his  ancestral  scepter,  eloquentlie 
spake  of  the  long  fruitlesse  toile,  of  the  wives  and  infants 
who  in  Argos  and  th'  farre  isles  of  th'  sea  awaited  their 
comming,  and  soe  moved  them  that  as  one  man  thej  echoed 
th'  cry,  "Let  us  re  tume." 

Straightway-  th'  hosts  sweepe  ore  th'  sandy  plaine,  like 
th'  billows  o'  th'  Icarian  Sea  under  great  winds,  Th'  dust 
is  as  th'  smoke  rising  from  a  furnace,  and  loud  shouts  like 
th'  resounding  sea  are  heard.  Some  seize  th'  ships  to  drag 
them  to  th'  main,  and  all  make  ready  with  tumulte  that 
doth  reach  to  heaven. 

Juno,  fearing  their  abandonment  o'  th'  great  quest, 
sent  th'  blue-eyed  maid,  Minerva,  to  staye  them.  Descend- 
ing th'  heights  of  proud  Olympus  like  a  summer  starre, 
Pallas  swiftlie  flew  to  th'  Grecian  campe,  and  sought  out 
wise  Ulysses,  like  unto  th'  gods  in  counsel,  where  he  stood 
silent  with  averted  face,  and  laid  no  hand  on  his  blacke- 
hull'd  ships. 

Recognizing  th'  voyce  of  th'  goddesse,  as  she  incited  him 
to  use  all  his  wonderfuU,  silver-tongued  eloquence  to  stem 
th'  flood  o'  th'  flying  host,  he  ran  forth  to  meete  Agamem- 
non and  obtain'd  th'  paternal  scepter.  Then  he  quicklie 
passed  through  th'  throng,  smoothelie  persuading  those  that 
were  royal  or  noble,  while  hee,  rebukingly  with  th'  scepter 
smiting  th'  base-borne,  bade  them  submit  unto  his  will 
and  cease  their  tumult.  Soone  every  Greeke  turn'd  back 
to  goe  once  more  to  hold  councill  upon't,  loudly  murmur- 
ing and  surging  like  th'  sea. 

Finally  all  save  Thersites  fell  into  silence.  Hee  alone, 
ever  clamouring  and  delighting  much  in  noisie  railings  and 


224  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

scajidalous  revilings  'gainst  prince  or  lord,  (but  most  wild 
and  wreaklesse  when  proud  AcMlles  and  TTlysses  were  his 
scomfull  theame,  for  toward  them  his  envy  and  spleene 
raged  ceaselessly)  was  upon  that  dale  so  spitefull  'gainst 
Atrides,  that  Ulysses,  resenting  that  dishonour  to  th' 
Generall,  reprov'd  him  severely,  and  even  used  th'  scepter 
as  a  rod,  smiting  him  so  rudely  that  great  weals  came  up 
under  each  heavy  blow,  and  th'  bloud  cours'd  swiftly  down 
his  backe.  Thersites  wip'd  a  teare  away,  and,  submissively 
restraining  all  further  speaking,  hee  took  th'  seate  th'  wise 
Ulysses  pointed  out  upon  th'  ground.  Then  all  th'  people 
marvell'd  and  exclaim'd  with  wonder  to  see  Thersites  van- 
quish'd. 

A  stormy  but  unf ruitfull,  dispute  among  th'  Princes  was 
begun,  which  Is^estor  cut  short  by  saying  to  them  that  they 
spake  as  children,  and  himselfe  propos'd  to  their  cheefe 
that  he  divide  th'  armie  into  tribes,  placing  kin  with  kin 
to  strengthen  and  aide  each  th'  other.  Whereupon  Aga- 
memnon bade  his  hosts  make  hasty  preparation  for  battell ; 
and  straightwaye  the  armie  dispers'd  among  th'  tents,  and 
smoke  rose  upward  throughout  th'  campe  as  they  prepar'd 
th'  meal. 

But  Atrides  made  a  sacred  feast,  offering  in  sacrifice 
an  ox  of  five  yeares,  strong  and  beautifuU.  First  he  bade 
that  venerable  sage,  Nestor,  then  summoned  Idomeneus 
and  Tydides,  then  both  th'  Ajaces  and  th'  wise  Ulysses, 
but  Menelaus,  uninvited,  foUow'd.  When  they  had  com- 
pleted th'  ceremonies,  Nestor  bade  Atrides  send  out  their 
heralds  and  summon  th'  armie  to  th'  plain  to  prepare  th' 
hosts  to  battell,  and  to  separate  th'  warriours  by  tribes. 
This  was  accordinglie  done,  and  Minerva  took  th'  .^gid 
shield  whose  fringe  was  valued  above  hundreds  of  oxen. 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  226 

Then  she  pass'd  to  and  fro  amid  th'  hosts  and  arranged 
them,  at  the  same  time  inciting  them  to  battell,  so  that  they 
remember'd  their  homes  and  countrey  no  more.  Their 
breasts  glowed  and  bumed  with  desire  to  enter  into  the 
conflict  and  atchieve  great  honour. 

That  daie  Jove  rendered  Atrides  conspicuous  among 
heroes,  and  glorious, — more,  even,  then  his  wont, — moving 
midst  the  throng  in  his  shining  armor. 

There  followeth  a  catalogue  of  th'  shippes: 

Peneleus,  Leitus,  Prothoenor,  joyned  with  Arcesilaus 
and  bold  Clonius,  equall  in  arms  and  in  command,  led 
Boeotia's  hosts;  and  there  went  with  them  fiftie  sable  shipps. 
Those  whose  home  was  upon  rocky  Aulis,  hillie  Eteon  or 
the  waterie  plains  of  Hyrie;  in  Schoenos,  or  Scholos,  Grsea 
or  Mycalessia;  those  who  came  out  from  Peteon,  from 
Harma,  Heleone  or  Hyle,  well  water'd  by  its  springs  that 
ever  rise;  those  who  dwelt  in  loftie  Medeon  and  in  Ocalea; 
in  Haliartus  or  in  Thespia  sacred  to  th'  god  Apollo;  and 
Onchestus  where  !N"eptune's  temple  stood;  and  those  who 
dwelt  in  Copse  and  Thisbe,  fam'd  for  faire  doves,  or  pas- 
torall  Erythrae;  Glissa  where  vines  abound;  in  greene 
Platea  and  divine  Nysa;  in  Hypothebas  that  well-built 
city,  or  where  Eutresis  and  fair  Coronea  rose;  in  rich 
Ame,  or  Anthedon  upon  th'  farthest  bound  o'  farre  distant 
Bceotia:  of  these  each  ship  bore  six  score  warriors. 

After  these  followed  the  troops  of  Aspledon  in  thirty 
sable  shippes,  comming  from  fertile  Orchomenus  and  led 
by  the  two  sonnes  of  Astyoche,  (which  she  brought  forth 
'prest  by  god  Mars  whom  she  met  in  th'  court  of  Actor) 
the  valiant  pair,  lalmen  and  Ascalaphus. 

Then  came  th'  Phocions  led  to  Phrygia  by  bold  Epis- 
trophus  and  Shedius  from  the  faire  land  where  th'  Cephisus 


226  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

floweth;  from  Panopea  and  Chrysa,  isle  of  Phoebus;  and 
from  Anemoria,  Daulis  and  farre  off  Pytho',  or  Cyparissus 
and  Lilsea.  Their  fortie  shippes  ranged  close  upon  the  left 
of  th'  Boeotians. 

A  Locrian  squadron, — dwellers  in  Bessa,  Cynos,  Thron- 
us;  in  Opus,  Calliarus,  Scarphea;  or  where  fayre  Augeia 
stood;  or  in  well-wooded  Tarphea, — led  by  Oileus  sonne, 
th'  lesser  Ajax,  skilled  in  the  use  o'  th'  spear,  was  full  forty 
vessels  in  number. 

Next  came  the  long  haired  Abantes  that  dwelt  in 
Eubcea, — ^in  Chalcis  or  wel-built  Eretria;  or  in  Isteia  for 
her  vineyards  fam'd  throughout  th'  world;  and  in  Caristos 
and  in  Styra;  in  Dion  and  Cerinthus.  These,  led  by 
Elephenor,  you  see  in  fortie  black  keel'd  shippes. 

Next  th'  Athenians  folow'd,  led  to  Ilium  by  Menes- 
theus,  who  excell'd  all  th'  other  Greekes,  save  Nestor  alone, 
in  marshalling  th'  hosts.  These  were  conjoyned  with  th' 
troopes  from  Salamis  the  sonne  t'  Telamon  was  chosen  to 
command. 

Next  came  th'  Argives  from  Troezene  and  Maseta;  and 
from  >Egina,  th'  sea-girt  isle;  and  strong  wall'd  Tirynthia, 
vine  famous  Epidaurus ;  from  Asine,  sited  on  th'  cliffs,  and 
from  the  harbor  of  Hermione,  led  by  Diomed  and  Euryalus 
with  Sthenelus,  yet  was  Tydides  ehiefe.  With  them  fol- 
low'd  eighty  shippes. 

And  next  came  th'  dwellers  in  Cleonse,  or  in  Mycenae, 
and,  fairest  of  th'  faire,  Corinth  the  Beautifull;  or  in  fertil 
Omia,  and  Arsethyrea;  in  Pelene,  noted  for  flocks;  or 
Helice,  Hyperesia;  or  in  farre  Gonoessa.  These  in  a 
hundred  shippes  came  with  Agamemnon,  th'  generall,  who 
led  them  foorth — the  resplendent,  for  Jove  did  render  him 
conspicuous  in  glitt'ring  arms. 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  227 

And  next  was  Menelaus,  his  brother,  who  commanded 
Sparta's  forces,  eager  to  avenge  beautious  Helen's  rape — 
warriors  from  Pharis,  Brysise,  rocky  Lacedsemon;  those 
who  dwelt  in  Messeis,  renown'd  for  silver  doves;  or  in 
Amyclse,  Laas,  Augia,  CEtylos  [and]  Helos,  by  th'  sea. 
With  these  three  score  vessels  sailed. 

Then  Nestor,  th'  aged  king,  with  his  armie  came  from 
sandy  Pylos;  those  that  inhabit  that  land  soe  fmictfull — 
Amphigenia — where  loftie  -<:Epy  and  little  Pteleon  do  stand; 
and  Arene  also;  Thryos,  where  th'  Alpheus  watereth  th' 
meads;  and  famed  Dorion,  where  bold  Thamyris,  boasting 
that  he  could  excell  Muses  in  musick,  was  made  blinde 
by  th'  scom'd  Muses,  who,  furious,  deprived  him 
also  of  his  beautiful  voyce,  nor  might  hee  charm  again. 
With  him  sail'd  ninety  vessels. 

Th'  Arcadians, — those  whose  territory  lay  under  loftie 
Cylene  round  old  -^pytus'  tomb;  who  dwelt  in  Ripe,  or 
Stratie;  in  those  places  bordering  Tegea;  in  Stymphalus, 
upon  Parrhasia,  her  lofty  cliffs;  in  win  die  Enispe  or  pleas- 
ant Mantinea,  were  commanded  by  Agapenor,  sonne  to 
glorious  Ancseus.  However,  the  countrie  being  neyther 
large  nor  powerfuU,  their  shippes  were  fumish'd  by  Aga- 
memnon. Of  these  he  sent  sixty  to  bear  them  acrosse 
the  sea. 

Then  th'  Epeans  followed, — they  that  inhabited  the 
clime,  where  Buprasium  joyn'd  unto  Elis  (confined  by 
Hyrmina,  Myrsinus,  as  farre  as  th'  famed  Olenian  rock, 
and  where  th'  Alisium  flowed).  In  four  separate  fleets 
they  were  divided,  each  containing  ten  vessels.  Amphim- 
acus  led  one,  Thalpius  th'  second,  Diores  th'  third,  and 
Polyxenus  th'  last. 

JSText,  those  dwelling  in  th'  iles  of  the  Echinades  were 


228  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

led  by  Meges,  th'  sonne  of  Phyleus,  a  man  whom  Jove 
greatly  loved.  He  fled  from  his  sire  to  Dulichium.  With 
him-  there  were  fortie  sable  shippes. 

Next  came  Ulysses,  in  counsell  like  a  god.  With  him 
were  twelve  red  shippes  bearing  th'  Cephalenians  and 
Ithicans;  those  dweling  where  lofty  ISTeritos  rises,  upon 
whose  sides  th'  leafie  forests  wave;  or  in  rocky  Crocylea; 
in  JEgilips,  or  Zacynthus'  greene  isle. 

Then  one  might  see  the  ^tolians  from  Pleuron,  from 
chalkie  Calydon,  from  rugged  Pylene  and  that  lofty 
Olenian  rock,  or  pleasant  sited  Chalcis  by  th'  sea.  These 
Andrsemon's  eldest — Thoas,  brave  and  valiant — led,  be- 
cause the  sonnes  of  old  (Eneus  were  dead,  (and  CEneus  as 
well).     With  these  went  fortie  sable  vessels. 

Close  by  them  may  you  see  Idomeneus  leading  th' 
Cretans,  aided  in  the  command  by  Meriones,  equal  to  Mars, 
that  in  four  score  sable  shipps  came  from  Gnossus,  Lyctus 
and  Gortyna,  from  Khytium,  Miletus,  Lycastus  faire, 
Phaestus  by  the  silver  Jardan — from  a  hundred  citties 
Crete  fumisht  a  mighty  force. 

From  Isle  Ehodes  valiant  Tlepolemus,  Hercules'  sonne, 
led  nine  fleet  shippes.  Those  dwelling  in  fayrest  lalysus, 
in  lindus,  with  those  froni  Camirus.  Por  Tlepolemus 
grew  up  to  manhood  in  th'  court  of  his  uncle,  whither  his 
owne  captive  mother,  Astyochea,  was  carried  from  farre 
Ephyra,  by  the  flowing  Selleis;  straightway,  however,  he 
having  slain  his  olde  uncle,  Licymnius,  fled  to  escape  th' 
anger  of  his  kinsmen,  and  gathering  many  that  were  o' 
bold  adventurous  spirrit,  hee  hasten'd  (laboring  both  daye 
and  nights)  building  his  rude  fleet  to  sail  ore  the  de^pe. 
And  after  many  wanderings  and  misadventures,  hee  came 
unto  Ehodes  and  possess'd  th'  land;  where,  dividing  his 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  229 

followers  into  three  tribes  over  which  he  ruled,  he  prosper'd 
greatlj,  Jove  himselfe  sending  downe  golden  gifts. 

Next  came  Nireus,  whom  th'  nymph  Aglsea  bore  to  bold 
Charopus.  He  was  the  fairest  of  all  th'  Greekes  who  came 
to  Ilion  (excepting  th'  sonne  of  Thetis)  but  his  troops  were 
few  and  weake. 

"Next  came  thirty  vessels  from  th'  lies  of  Calydnse, — 
from  Casos,  Nisyrus,  Cos  (th'  citty  of  Eurypylus), — led  on 
by  Antiphus  and  brave  Phidippus. 

Then  fifty  strong  shippes, — from  Argos,  Alos,  sweet 
Hella,  where  are  the  fayrest  o'  women;  th'  vales  of  Phthia; 
from  Trachyn  and  Alope, — were  commanded  by  Achilles. 
iSTow  hee  sitteth  by  the  blacke  shippes  and  will  not  come 
to  the  field,  because  of  Briseis,  the  maiden  whom  hee 
brought  captive  from  Thebes  after  the  wall  was  thrown 
downe  and  he  had  taken  th'  citty  and  slain  th'  sonnes  of 
Evenus. 

!Xext  came  th'  youths  of  Phylace,  from  sheep-producing 
Itona;  from  grassie  Ptelium;  from  flow'ry  Pyrrhasus  or 
Antrium,  where  th'  caves  are  num'rous  in  those  hills. 
These  Protesilaus  led  not  now,  for  th'  cold  blacke  ground 
covered  him,  and  his  wife  is  left  alone  in  his  unfinished 
pallace.  Hee  was  th'  first  of  th'  Greekes  who  'boldlie 
sprang  to  th'  shore  when  Troy  was  reach'd,  and  fell  beneath 
a  Phrygian  lance.  N^ow  his  bones  lie  f arre  from  his  belov'd 
home,  and  the  sonne  o'  Iphiclus,  his  brother  Podarces,  doth 
assume  command;  but  they  mourne  their  lost  leader.  Their 
fleet  numbered  forty  sable  shippes. 

Those  that  dwelt  in  Glaphyra, — where  lieth  Lake  Boebe 
with  high  hills  surounded,  and  Phsere  and  lolcus  stand, — 
with  eleven  sable  shippes,  were  led  by  brave  Eumelus, 
sonne  of  Alceste,  who  in  beauty  farre  excell'd  all  others 
among  Pelias'  race. 


230  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

All  those  who  from  Methone  came,  or  farre  distant 
Thaumacia,  where  th'  rock  of  Olizon  doth  rise;  from  grassy 
Meliboea  and  Pella,  were  commanded  by  Philoctetes, 
greatly  fam'd  for  skill  with  th'  bo  we.  Fifty  strong  rowers 
mann'd  each  blacke  shippe,  (sev'n  made  up  his  little  fleet) 
fighting  with  bowes  made  of  eugh  and  barbed  arrowes. 
Medon,  sonne  of  Oileus,  borne  by  faire  Rhene,  led  them 
to  Ilion,  because  bold  Philoctetes,  whom  a  most  banefull 
hydra  had  bitten,  lay  groaning  in  Lemnos  Isle;  but  the 
Grecian  army  shall  yet  desire  him,  and  their  wish  shall 
be  fulfill'd. 

Th'  (Echalians  who  enjoyed  two  leaders, — those  divine 
physitians,  th'  sonnes  of  ^sculapius  nam'd  Podalirius  and 
Machaon, — came  from  th'  land  where  Eurytus  once 
reigned,  from  tower'd  Tricca  or  Ithome's  rocks,  in  thirty 
shippes. 

ISText  Eurypylus  led  th'  Ormenian  and  th'  Asterian 
bands  in  forty  vessels,  from  th'  land  where  Titan  hideth  in 
snows  his  hoarie  head,  or  where  the  silver  founts  of  faire 
Hyperia  flow. 

Then  Polypoetes  led  forth  th'  troops  of  Argissa  and 
Elone, — they  that  dwelt  beneath  Olympus'  benignant 
shadowe;  Gyrtone,  or  Orthe,  or  the  chalky  cliffs  of 
Oloosson,  Leonteus,  with  Pirithous'  Sonne,  (that  Hippo- 
dame  bore  when  th'  Centaurs  were  driven  fro'  Pelion) 
Polypoetes,  joyned  in  th'  commande. 

Then  came  th'  Perrhsebians  and  th'  Enians  in  two-and- 
twenty  shippes.  These  Gyneus  led  from  Cyphus,  from  cold 
Dodona's  sacred  wood,  or  where  the  Titaresius  poured  its 
black  water  over  the  Peueus;  but  they  float  on  his  surface 
nor  mingle  with  that  silverlike  flood  at  anie  time  because 
black  Styx,  oath  of  immortall  gods,  sent  them  forth. 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  '  231 

Last  unde'  swift-footed  Prothoiis  (Teuthredon's  seede) 
stood  the  Magnesians,  who  dwelt  beneath  pine-crown'd 
Pelion;  or  where  flower  deckt  Penens  roll'd  his  waters 
through  Tempo's  vale;  or  in  that  farre-reaching  suround- 
ing  country.     Forty  shippes  compos'd  their  fleet. 

Th'  inquiry  "Which  hero  was  bravest,  and  whose  th' 
swiftest  steeds?"  is  answer'd  thus:  Eumelus'  mares  of 
Pheres  deriv'd,  bred  near  Pierian  founts  and  by  Apollo 
train'd,  equall  in  their  height  (by  level  o'  th'  plumb-line), 
like  in  colour,  as  th'  wind  in  speede,  like  every  waye:  they 
thunder'd  ore  th'  plain  through  Trojan  ranks,  bearing  death 
to  th'  Troyans  and  all  o'  their  allies.  N^one  can  ev'n  hope 
to  escape  who  fall  beneath  their  hooves  and  are  crush'd 
under  their  chariot  wheels.  Among  th'  warriours  Ajax 
was  th'  worthiest.  Of  all  the  Greekes  who  came  to  Hion, 
none  equall'd  Achilles  while  that  hero  was  among  th'  hosts 
upon  the  field  of  battaile,  but  hee  sat  alone  by  his  ship's 
side  brooding  angrilie  over  Briseis'  losse  nor  would  he  enter 
the  field.  His  Myymidons  practiced  at  archerie,  or  threw 
th'  javelin  or  quoits,  and  the  steeds  by  the  unus'd  chariots 
fed  upon  lotus,  wilde  parsley,  et  caetera,  while  their  chiefes, 
wandering  through  th'  campe,  longed  for  their  leader, 
neythe'  did  they  ayde  in  th'  battell. 

They  swept  on  like  to  earth-devouring  fire  and  beneath 
them  th'  ground  shook;  (when  Jove  smiteth  th'  earth  in 
Arimse  by  Typhoeus,  where  it  is  said  Typhosus'  tomb  is 
found,  even  thus  doth  the  ground  tremble  and  shake;)  and 
verie  swiftlie  they  rushed  along  th'  plaine. 

But  Jove  sent  Iris  as  a  messenger  to  th'  Trojans,  whom 
she  found  sitting  in  councill,  both  olde  men  and  young  at 
th'  gates  of  Troy;  and  likening  herself e  to  Priam's  sonne 
Polites,  who  relying  on  th'  swiftnesse  of  his  feete,  sat  at 


282  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

watch  upon  the  tomb  o'  ^syetus,  observing  every  move- 
ment of  th'  Greeks  that  hee  might  wame  mightie  Troy 
of  danger,  standing  in  their  midst,  (liken'd  to  Polites,)  Iris 
address'd  them,  saying: 

'Why  sit  ye  talking  idly  at  th'  gates?  Prepare  your- 
selves for  battaile  for  th'  Greekes  are  close  at  hand,  in 
number  as  th'  leaves  of  th'  forest  or  th'  sands  upon  th' 
shore.  Never  such  an  host  have  I  yet  scene.  Hector,  it 
is  to  you  I  would  speake:  hasten  to  arme  Troyes  boldest 
warriours  and  her  allies,  and  let  every  chiefe  command 
those  o'  his  owne  countrie,  for  many  and  diverse  are  th' 
nations  and  language,  but  do  you  lead  forth  Troies  citizens." 

Then  all  th'  Trojans  rusht  to  arms.  Hector  knowing 
well  th'  voyce  of  th'  goddesse  obey'd  all  th'  commands. 
Like  a  floode-tide  they  poured  forth  from  th'  gates, 
gath'ring  by  nations  and  tribes,  round  that  loftie  mound 
in  the  plain,  by  all  men  call'd  Batiea,  but  by  immortalls 
known  as  old  Myrinna's  tombe. 

Then  did  appeare  th'  waving  plimie  on  Hector's  crest, 
higher  then  all  those  of  his  fellowes,  as  hee  led  forth  th' 
valiant  sonnes  of  Troy,  for  hee  was  th'  mightiest  of  the 
heroicke  sonnes  sprung  from  old  Priam. 

The  leader  of  the  valiante  allies  from  Dardania  was 
brave  j^Eneas,  half  divine  in  his  origin.  Fayre  Yenus 
bore  him  to  Anchises  (who  was  but  a  mortall)  upon  Mount 
Ida.  Joyned  with  him  in  command  are  Antenor's  sonnes, 
Archilochus  and  Acamas,  skill'd  in  all  kinds  of  derring-do. 

From  Zeleia  came  Pandarus,  sonne  to  Lycaon,  to  whom 
Apollo  gave  th'  silver  bowe  and  well  pointed  shafts  that 
he  bore.  All  these  dwelt  'neath  sacred  Mount  Ida,  and 
drank  ^sepus'  dark  waters. 

Those  who  dwelt  under  th'  brow  of  that  loftie  hio-ht 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  233 

Tereia,  or  in  towered  Adrestse,  faire  Pityea  or  Apsesus, 
were  led  forth  by  Adrastus  and  Amphius,  sonnes  of  Per- 
cosian  Merops,  who  being  a  prophet  had  foretold  each 
doom;  but  a  fate  of  death  urg'd  them  to  their  destruction. 
Asius,  Hyrtacus'  valiant  sonne,  led  those  who  dwelt 
in  th'  plains  of  Percote  by  silve'  flowing  Practius;  or  those 
faire  twins  of  Hellespontus — Sestos  and  lovely  Abydos;  in 
strong-wall'd  Arisbe,  by  flowing  Selleis. 

The  Pelasgians  (much  skill'd  in  th'  use  of  th'  spear), 
who  inhabited  fertile  Larissa,  were  led  by  th'  valiant 
sonnes  of  Lethus,  from  god  Mars  descended,  Hippothoiis 
and  bold  Pylseus. 

Next  bleak  Thracia,  near  th'  Hellespontus,  sent  forth 
her  warriours,  led  by  bold  Acamus  and  brave  Piroiis. 

Then   th'   sonne  to   mighty   Troezenus,  grandsonne   to 
Ceas,  Euphemus,  a  warlike  host  led  forth  from  Cicone. 
And  Pyrsechmes  led  the  Pseonians,  who  were  skill'd 
in  th'  use  of  th'  thong-fastened,  long  darts.     These  dwelt 
in  distant  Amidon,  where  th'  Axius  overfloweth  his  l^nks. 
Th'  Paphlagonians, — from  that  mule-raising  Eneti  and 
Erythine's  rockie  heights;  from  greene  Cytora,  lofty  Sesa- 
mus;  from  JEgialus  and  Cromna,  or  fast  by  Parthenius' 
banks, — these  were  commanded  by  powerfull  Pylsemenes. 
Then  from  th'  famed  min'fes  of  Halizonia,  rich  in  silver 
ores,  came  a  brave  bande  under  Hodius  and  Epistrophus. 
Next  Chromis  led  Mysia's  valiant  host,  aided  by  th' 
augur  Ennomus;  but  skill  in  this  art  avail'd  not  to  pre- 
vent his  death,  for  he,  with  a  number  of  others,  perish'd 
by  th'  sword  of  Achilles  at  th'  river. 

Then  Phorcys  and  god-like  Ascanius  led  forth  th'  war- 
riours from  Ascania,  (who  were  also  called  Phrygians) 
eagerly  desiring  warre. 


234  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Following  these  came  tlie  Mseonians,  whom  Mesthles 
and  Antiphus — ^bome  by  Lake  Gygsea  to  TalsBmseneus — 
did  command.     Tliese  dwelt  beneath  Mount  Tmolus. 

The  Carians  that  dwelt  in  Pethiri,  in  Mjcale'or  well- 
built  Miletus,  were  led  by  ISFastes  and  Amphimachus,  the 
sonnes  of  ISTomion,  who  foolish  went  to  battaile  deckt  forth 
like  a  girl  in  glittering  gold,  nor  did  this  avert  bitter  death, 
for  hee  fell  at  th'  hand  of  th'  sonne  of  ^acus  and  his 
body  fell  into  the  rive';  yet  did  swifte  Achilles  taking  his 
armor  possesse  it  as  a  trophie. 

Sarpedon  joyn'd  with  Glaucus,  the  valiant,  commanded 
those  that  dwelt  where  the  eddiing  Xanthus  flowed  through 
Lycia  afarre. 

III. 

When  therefore  they  were  well  order'd  in  battaile 
array,  th'  Troyans  rusht  to  meet  th'  foe  with  tumult  and 
noyse,  such  as  cranes  make  in  Asian  fields  by  th'  water 
streams,  when  th'  intolerable  winter  is  over,  and  flight  to 
other  climes  is  arrang'd,  to  bear  death  and  evill  to  th' 
Pygmean  men;  but  the  Greekes,  breathing  might,  swept 
onward  in  silence,  desiring  to  assist  each  other. 

Then  as  a  thicke  mist  on  th'  mountain  toppes,  evill 
to  the  shepheards,  but  to  th'  robber  better  farre  then 
night, — so  thicke  that  one  can  see  but  a  stones-throwe, — 
thus  did  th'  dust  arise  above  their  heads,  so  swiftly  did 
they  sweepe  on  ove'  th'  sandy  plaine. 

When  however  having  quickly  crossed  the  plain  th' 
armies  were  oppos'd  to  one  another,  Alexander  advanc'd 
before  the  Troyans,  bearing  on  his  shoulders  a  panther's 
hide  and  a  ^bended  bowe,  and  wearing  a  sword,  while  in  his 
hands   hee    brandisht   two  brasse-tipt   spears,    challenging 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  235 

whoever  was  th'  bravest  of  th'  Greekes  to  meet  him  in 
single  combat. 

Then  Menelaus  rejojc'd,  (as  a  lion  that  doth  finde  an 
huge  wild  goate  or  homed  stag  which,  though  pursued 
by  hunters  and  hounds,  hee  greedUj  devoureth)  thinking 
to  be  aveng'd  upon  th'  guilty  wretch,  and  straightway  with 
his  arms  he  leapt  to  th'  ground. 

Then  godlike  Alexander  tum'd  white  with  palsying 
feare;  and,  as  one  upon  th'  mountayn  side,  seeing  in  th' 
thicket  a  glitt'ring  serpent,  affrighted  yieldeth  place  and 
a  great  trembling  doth  take  hold  upon  him,  so  Alexander, 
appall'd  before  Atrides,  shrank  back  againe  to  the  mightie 
hosts  of  th'  Troyans. 

But  when  Hector  saw  this  he  violently  upbraided  him 
thus:  "Thou  woman  seducer,  would  that  thou  had  never 
beene  brought  into  light,  or  that  unwedded  thou  had  per- 
isht.  As  thou  hast  a  noble  forme,  the  long-haired  Achse- 
ans  may  laugh  at  this,  for  doubtlesslie  they  suppos'd  thee 
brave,  when  thou  hast  neithe'  heart  nor  anie  nerve,  but 
art  indeed  onely  a  disgrace  to  thy  father,  to  thy  city,  and 
also  to  thyselfe.  If  thou  had  onely  awaited  Menelaus, 
thou  shouldst  know  indeed  how  brave  a  man  is  hee  whose 
wedded  wife  thou  dost  possesse.  Troyan  men,  forsooth,  are 
pusillanimous,  else  should  they  stone  thee  on  accompte  of 
th'  evils  that  thou  hast  done." 

But  Alexander  replied  thus:  "Since  thy  reproof  is  not 
unjust,  0  my  brother,  whose  spirit  is  indubitate  (for  as 
the  ax  cleayeth  wood  when  driven  by  vigorous  blowes,  and 
doth  also  increase  greatly  th'  strength  of  th'  arme  that  doth 
wield  it,  even  so  thy  dauritlesse  heart  is  ever  mighty  in 
thy  breast),  and  it  is  on  my  accompt  that  so  many  Trojans 
•suffer,  commande  that  both  the  Achseans  and  Trojans  be 


286  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

seated,  on  this  side  and  that,  and  in  th'  midst  will  I  contend 
with  Atrides;  and  hee  that  shall  bee  victorious  shall  pos- 
sesse  both  the  woman  and  the  treasure." 

Thereupon,  holding  in  his  right  hand  a  mightie  speare, 
Hector  advanced  before  th'  Trojan  lines;  and  the  Argives, 
beholdi'g  him,  made  ready  darts  and  stones  to  hurle  at 
him.  But  seeing  this,  Agamemnon  restrained  them  say- 
ing: "Withhold,  ye  Argives,  and  all  ye  othe'  mightie  war- 
riours!  See  ye  not  helm-tossing  Hector  is  come  to  propose 
something?" 

Whereupon  Hector  made  his  pui"pose  knoMoie,  and  all 
rejoyc'd  because  they  thought  th'  end  of  th'  warre  was 
neare. 

Then  Menelaus  said:  "O  magnanimous  Agamemnon, 
and  ye  valiant  Achaeans  and  Trojans,  hear  me,  for  this 
doth  concerne  me  above  all  others:  let  this  be  done  as 
Hector  hath  said,  and  to  whichsoever  the  fate  of  death  may 
•come,  it  is  well;  and  hee  that  hath  the  victorie  over  th' 
other,  let  him  receyve  th'  rewards.  But  before  this  bee 
■done,  separate  th'  Achseans  and  th'  Trojans,  and  let  lambs 
bee  brought — a  white  one  and  a  blacke — for  the  Earth 
and  th'  Sunne,  and  do  you  also  send  a  herald  to  th'  shippes 
to  bring  one  which  shall  be  offer'd  unto  Jove.  Further- 
more do  ye  bring  the  might  of  Priam,  that  hee  may  make 
this  league,  for  all  his  sonnes  are  faithlesse,  and  where  an 
old  man  is,  there  is  wisedom — there  also  is  justice  and 
truth;  for  an  old  man  looketh  both  forward  and  baeke,  and 
his  judgement  is  just  as  it  concemeth  each  party." 

Then  th'  horse  was  sodainlie  reined  backe  to  the  foote, 
and  th'  warriours,  dismounting,  threw  their  armes  on  th' 
ground  and  sat  downe. 

But  Hector  straightway  sent  forth  two  heralds  to  bring 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  2»7^ 

the  lambs  and  to  take  tli'  message  to  Priam.  Nor  did 
Atrides  disregard  th'  command  of  his  brother,  for  he 
immediately  dispatched  Talthybius  to  th'  shippes  for  th' 
lamb,  to  offer  unto  Jove;  and  hee  did  not  disobey  Atrides. 

Then  Iris  hastening  to  seeke  Helen,  likened  herselfe  to 
Laodice  fayrest  daughter  o'  Priam,  the  wife  of  King  Heli- 
caon,  Antenor's  sonne.  And  she  found  her, — weaving  a 
beautifull  web  for  mantles,  of  double  tissue,  rich  and 
resplendent,  and  on  it  many  labours  of  the  horse-training 
Troyans  and  of  th'  well-greaved  Greekes,  that  on  her 
accompte  they  endured, — and  thus  addrest  her: 

"Come  see  the  mightie  deeds  of  th'  Tiorse-training  Troy- 
ans, with  th'  brazen-mayl'd  Greekes,  in  th'  warre.  Their 
armes  lie  upon  th'  ground,  and  conflict  hath  now  ceased, 
for  Mars-beloved  Menelaus  and  Alexander  are  to  contend 
in  th'  midst,  and  thou  shalt  bee  call'd  th'  dear  wife  of  him 
who  doth  conquer." 

Thus  did  the  goddesse  fill  her  minde  with  a  desire  to 
see  Menelaus  and  her  kindred,  and  to  returne  to  her  former 
home.  Letting  fall  a  tende'  tear,  she  hastily  envelop'd 
herselfe  in  white  robes,  and  with  two  mayds,  (Ethra  and 
large-eyed  Clymene,  rusht  forth  to  th'  Scsean  gates  where 
sate  Priam  and  Pantholis,  Thymaetes  and  Lampus,  Clytius 
and  Hicetaon  (offspring  of  Mars)  with  Ucalegon  and 
Anthenor,  once  mighty  warriours  but  long  since  unable  for 
the  field  because  of  old  age:  however,  they  were  good  in 
oratory,  like  unto  the  Cicadse  of  th'  woods,  having  good 
voyces. 

When  therefore  these  looking  up  beheld  faire  Helen 
approaching,  they  spake  hurriedly  in  low  tones:  "I  hold 
it  noe  indignity  that  Trojans  and  Greekes  spend  soe  much 
labour,  loose  soe  many  lives  for  Helen's  sake, — so  faire  a 


^538  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

ladle's  sake.  For  her  was  this  [warre]  well  undertaken, 
worthely  prolong'd.  Yet,  although  all  this  bee  true,  and 
though  she  bee  a  woman  of  such  excellent  feature  and 
•stature,  as  if  she  were  a  goddesse,  let  her  retume  in  the 
shippes,  lest  she  be  more  grievous  to  us,  and  a  perpetuall 
disgrace  to  ourselves  and  our  children." 

But  Priam  call'd  her  to  him  saying:  "Come  here,  dear 
daughter,  and  sitting  here  beside  me,  thou  maist  looke  upon 
thy  former  spouse,  and  on  thy  kinsmen  and  friends.  Thou 
■canst  doubtlesse  name  for  me  this  tall  hero.  So  gracefuU 
and  so  venerable  have  I  neve'  yet  scene,  and  he  is,  indeede, 
.-a  very  kingly  man." 

Helen,  most  divine  of  women,  answer'd:  "Belov'd  and 
Tevered  father-in-law,  I  would  that  an  evill  death  had  pleas' d 
me,  when  I  came  here  with  thine  eage'  sonne,  leaving  my 
home  and  countrie,  my  brothers,  my  belov'd  daughte',  and 
my  companions  equall  in  rank.  But  such  a  fate  was  not 
mine:  I  therefore  pine  away  with  weeping.  Yet  will  I 
name  for  thee  this  hero.  It  is  Agamemnon,  Atreus'  sonne, 
great  both  as  a  mighty  warriour  and  as  a  good  king.  More- 
over he  was  brother-in-law  of  shameless  me,  if  ever  indeede 
such  things  were." 

Then  Priam  answered,  still  admiring  Agamemnon : 
"O  happie  prince,  most  fortunate  in  thy  birth,  truely  manie 
Achaean  youths  are  under  thy  command.  When  I  came 
into  Phrygia,  and  beheld  th'  forces  of  Otreus  and  god-like 
Mygdon,  by  the  Sangarius  standing  beside  their  horses, 
going  out  against  those  man-opposing  Amazons  (Tor  I  was 
an  ally  in  that  warre)  a  number  almost  numberlesse  seemed 
that  host;  but  not  so  numerous  were  even  they,  as  these 
Greekes." 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  i39 

ISText  perceaving  Ulysses,  the  old  man  said:  "'Now 
name  this  hero,  my  dear  daughter,  whose  arms  lie  on  th' 
ground,  while,  as  a  thick-fleec'd  aries  'midst  th'  flocke  of 
snowy  sheepe,  he  windeth  in  and  out  among  the  troopes. 
Not  so  tall  is  hee  as  Atrides,  but  broader  in  shoulder.  1 
indeed  would  say  that  hee  was  like  such  a  ram." 

And  Helen,  sprung  from  heaven-ruling  Jove,  replied: 
"Xow  this  againe  is  Laertes'  sonne,  scheming  Ulysses,  from 
rugged  Ithica,  verie  subtile  in  reason,  like  unto  the  gods 
in  counsell." 

To  her  Anthenor  said :  ''Very  true  is  thy  word,  O  lady, 
for  long  ago  he  came  in  companie  with  most  noble  Menelaus, 
Mars-belov'd,  on  an  embassage  concerning  thee  unto  Troy; 
and  I  entertayn'd  them  in  my  palace  and  became  acquainted 
with  th'  genius  of  both.  When  they  mingled  with  th' 
Trojans,  Menelaus,  indeed,  overtopt  him,  being  taller;  but 
sitting,  hee  was  more  majesticke,  for  he  was  broader  in  th' 
shoulders.  But  when  they  commenced  to  harangue  the 
assembly,  Menelaus  spake  with  ease  and  volubly,  as  hee 
was  the  younger;  but  Ulysses,  looking  on  th'  ground,  stood 
with  his  heavy  scepter  in  his  motionlesse  hand,  and  appear'd 
both  unskilfull  in  his  outward  actions  and  devoid  of  reason. 
But  when  hee  began  to  speake,  and  words  Hke  wintry  flakes 
fell  from  his  lippes,  we  marvail'd  noe  longer  at  th'  appear- 
ance of  Ulysses  but  at  his  words." 

Then  having  beheld  Ajax,  th'  old  man  asked:  "Who 
is  this  other  Achaean  hero  in  th'  host,  taller  by  th'  head 
and  broad  shoulders,  thou  seest,  then  anie  of  his  com- 
panions?" 

And  Helen  answer'd:  "This  then  is  Ajax,  the  bulwarke 
of  th'  Achseans,  very  mighty  in  battaile:  and  over  on  the 
other  side,  among  the  Cretans,  standeth  Idomeneus,  like 


240  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OP  FRANCIS  BACON. 

to  a  god,  while  round  about  him  stand  the  many  leadei^  of 
the  Cretans.  Often  have  I  seen  him  formerly  in  pleasant 
sea-waird  Lacedaemon,  when  in  our  palace  Mars-beloved 
Menelaus  entertained  him  comming  from  Greet.  But  two 
valiant  heroes,  leaders  of  th'  people,  I  see  not, — horse- 
trayning  Castor,  and  Pollux,  skilled  in  boxing, — my  broth- 
ers, whom  my  mother  at  a  single  birth  brought  forth  with 
me.  Eyther  they  have  not  followed  from  Lacedaemon  in 
the  sea-traversing  vessells,  or  having  come,  they  enter  not 
into  the  warre  because  of  th'  disgraces  that  hang  over  me." 

But  already  th^fruitfull  earth  possessed  them  in  farre 
distant  Lacedaemon,  yet  of  this  she  was  ignorant. 

Within  the  citty  th'  herald  Idaeus  brought  two  golden 
goblets  and  th'  wine,  the  pledge  of  the  gods;  and  standing 
by  Priam  said  to  him: 

"The  chiefes  of  th'  horse-trayning  Trojans,  and  of  th' 
brazen-mayl'd  Greekes,  send  for  thee  that  thou  thyselfe 
maist  strike  the  league  betweene  them.  Por  Alexander  is 
alifcut  to  fight  with  Menelaus,  beloved  of  Mars;  and  th' 
woman  with  all  th'  treasure  should  attend  upon  th'  con- 
querour,  but  the  other  Trojans  should  dwell  in  fertile  Troy, 
and  th'  Greekes  returne  to  pastorall  Argos,  and  Achaia, 
fam'd  because  of  many  fayre  dames." 

Thus  he  spake,  and  th'  old  man  shudder'd;  but  he  order'd 
his  chariot  quickly  to  bee  prepar'd,  then  mounting  hastilie, 
drew  backe  the  reines:  but  Anthenor  tooke  place  beside  him, 
and  very  swiftly  did  they  passe  over  the  plaine,  and  come 
betweene  Trojans  and  Greekes. 

Whereupon  Agamemnon  uprose,  with  Ulysses  also,  and 
the  heralds  brought  forth  the  pledges  of  the  gods.  Then 
Atrides  drew  th'  dagger  at  his  side,  cut  off  the  haire  from 
the  foreheads  of  th'  lambs,  distributed  it  'mongst  them  all, 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  241 

and  stretching  forth  his  hands  to  Jove  thus  prayed  aloud: 

"Most  mighty  Jove,  and  sunne,  earth,  rivers,  and  those 
belowe  punishing  the  soules  o'  men  who  are  deceased — they 
that  have  swome  falsely — beare  witnesse  to  preserve  the 
faithfull  league.  If,  on  th'  one  hand,  Alexander  slay 
Menelaus,  let  him  from  thenceforth  retayne  Helen  and  all 
which  she  did  possesse;  and  let  the  Argives  retume  in  the 
sea-traversing  shippes.  If,  on  the  other  hande,  golden- 
haired  Menelaus  shall  conquer  Alexande',  then  shall  the 
Trojans  delive'  Hellen  and  all  her  treasure,  and  they  shall 
also  pay  a  fine  such  as  may  seeme  just,  which  may  bee 
approv'd  of  all  posterity.  But  if,  in  th'  event  of  Alexan- 
der's fall,  Priam  or  the  sonnes  of  Priam  refuse  to  paie  the 
fine,  then  shall  I  fight  on  accompte  of  th'  fine,  and  remaine 
untill  I  find  th'  end  of  the  warre." 

With  these  words  Agamemnon  cut  the  throats  of  the 
lam'bs,  bending  back  their  necks;  also  they  poured  out  wine 
from  th'  goblets,  and  some  one  of  the  Greekes  or  Trojans 
praied  aloud  thus: 

"O  Jove,  most  mighty,  most  glorious*,  and  all  ye  othe' 
immortall  gods,  ratify  this  league;  and  should  anie  man, 
Greeke  or  Trojan,  violate  his  oath,  may  his  bloud,  like  this 
wine,  be  poured  out,  and  grant  that  his  wife  may  be 
possessed  by  other  men." 

Thus  were  th'  praiers  offer'd,  but  th'  sonne  of  Satume 
would  not  heede.     Then  Priam  spake: 

"I  cannot  by  anie  meanes  endure,  ye  Trojans,  and  ye 
silver-greaved  Greekes,  to  behold  the  conflict  betweene  my 
dear  sonne  and  Mars-beloved  Menelaus,  therefore  will  I 
retume  to  windie  Troy;  for  surely  th'  immortal  gods  all 
knowe  to  whom  th'  fate  of  gloomy  death  hath  now  beene 
ordained." 


842  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Thereupon  lie  ascended  his  chariot,  and  beside  him 
Anthenor  mounted,  and  they  returned  to  Illium,  bearing 
the  lambes. 

Then  god-like  Hecto'  and  wise  counseling  Ulysses  cast 
the  lots  into  a  brazen  helmet,  and  measured  off  the  ground. 
But  th'  people  supplicated  the  gods,  stretching  forth  their 
hands,  and  thus  some  one  of  th'  Greekes  or  Trojans  prayed: 

"O  father  Jove,  most  glorious,  most  mighty,  grant  that 
whichever  hath  caused  the  ills  we  suffer,  may  enter  the 
realme  of  Pluto,  but  let  the  rest  of  us  dwell  in  safety  under 
the  faithfull  league." 

Thus  they  spake,   but  helm-agitating  Hector,   looking^ 
backward,  shook  the  helmet,  and  quickly  th'  lot  of  Paris 
leaped  out. 

Thereupon  divine  Alexande',  th'  husband  of  goldene- 
lock'd  Helen,  prepared  himselfe  for  th'  combate.  First, 
putting  on  his  beautifull  greaves,  he  fasten'd  them  with  th' 
silve'  claspes;  then  round  his  brest  buckled  th'  corslet  of 
his  brothe'  Lycaon,  for  it  fitted  him:  next  he  threw  his 
brazen  sword,  studded  with  silver,  together  with  the  mas- 
sie  shield,  over  his  shoulder  and  grasp'd  his  doughty  speare 
by  th'  middle.  Soe  likewise  did  Menelaus  arme,  and  they 
immediately  advanced  toward  each  othe'  from  eyther  side 
of  th'  throne  into  th'  prescrib'd  space,  where  they  for  a 
season  stood  glowering,  and  menacing  each  other  so  sorely 
that  all  th'  Greekes  and  Trojans  were  amaz'd.  Then 
Alexander  first  threw  th'  long-shadow'd  speare,  and  it 
struck  th'  shield  of  Atrides  but  it  pierc'd  not  th'  strong 
brasse:  the  point  however  was  turn'd  by  th'  force  of  th' 
blow.  Thereupon  Atrides  also  made  ready  to  hurl  his 
speare,  thus  supplicating  Jove: — 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  243 

"O  father  Jove,  hear  this  supplication.  Grant  that  I 
soe  avenge  th'  injury  done  unto  mee,  that  to  future  gen- 
erations it  may  warn  men  not  to  use  treacherous  dealings 
toward  one  who  hath  made  them  guests,  entertayning  them 
hospitably." 

So  praying  hee  hurl'd  his  speare;  and  that  impetuous 
weapon  going  through  th'  equal  shield,  pierc'd  through  his 
corslet  and  the  soft  tunicke  beneath  to  his  tender  thigh: 
but  hee  bending  sidewise  avoided  bitter  death. 

Th'  Sonne  of  Atreus  then  drew  his  richlie  ornamented 
sword,  and  smote  Alexander  upon  th'  crest  of  his  helmet 
so  violently,  that,  broken  into  three  or  foure  pieces,  it  fell 
on  th'  ground.  And  the  sonne  of  Atreus  groaned  aloud, 
looking  toward  Olympus,  and  cried: — 

"O  balefull  Jove,  none  is  like  unto  thee.  Ev'n  as  I 
thought  to  be  avenged  upon  Paris,  because  o'  th'  wicked 
deedes  hee  hath  done  unto  me,  behold  my  speare  hath  sped 
from  my  hand  in  vaine,  my  strong  sword  is  broken  in 
pieces,  and  I  have  done  him  no  injurie." 

Then  rushing  upon  Alexander,  he  caught  hold  upon 
th'  horsehair  tuft  on  his  helmet,  and  throwing  him  upon 
th'  ground,  would  have  swiftly  drawne  him  to  the  Greekes 
if  Yenus  had  not  seene  it,  who  broke  for  Paris  the  oxhide 
[band]  (made  from  th'  skin  of  a  roughlie  slaughter'd 
animall),  and  left  th'  emptie  helmet  in  his  hand.  This 
Atrides  hurl'd  to  his  companions  'mid  th'  ranks  of  th' 
Greekes,  who  taking  it  up  rejoyc'd  greatly,  and  ranne  for- 
ward to  seize  him.  But  Yenus  rescued  him,  overshadowing 
him  with  a  cloud,  carried  him  to  Troy,  and  gentlie  set 
him  down  within  th'  perfum'd  chamber. 

Th'  goddesse  then  went  in  search  of  Helen,  and  finding 
her  amid  manie  dames  upon   th'   tower,  liken'd  herselfe 


244  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

to  an  ancient  dame,  a  spinner  of  wool,  that  she  had  long; 
ago  known.  The  old  woman  had  often  spun  th'  fine  wool 
when  she  dwelt  in  pleasant  Lacedsemon,  and  Helen  loved 
her.  Therefore  like  this  dame,  fayre  Venus  st^andeth  at 
her  side  and  thus  accosteth  her: — 

"Helen,  come  hither  quickly,  for  Alexander  is  in  his 
turned  bed  within  his  perfumed  chamber,  shining  in  beauty 
and  attyre ;  nor  wouldst  thou  say  hee  was  come  immediately 
from  combate  with  a  hero,  but  about  to  enter  th'  dance; 
or  that  having  just  return'd  from  the  dance,  he  doth  take- 
repose." 

But  Helen  saw  the  white  neck,  beautifull  bosome,  and. 
bright  eyes  flashing  above  her,^and  recognized  th'  goddesse; 
whereupon  in  vext  tones  she  said: — 

"Cruell  Venus,  what  wouldst  thou  that  I  should  now 
doe?  Belike  thou  wouldst  have  me  go  yet  farther  into 
Phrygia,  or  into  pleasant  Mseonia,  where  there  may  be 
citties  inhabited  by  men  that  are  also  deare  to  thee.  Or- 
indfeed  is  it  that  Menelaus  having  conquer'd  Alexande',. 
would  faine  bring  hated  me  home,  a  reproach  to  Trojan 
women  evermoe?  Go,  leave  th'  path  of  th'  gods  upon 
faire  Olympus;  sit  beside  him,  so  may  he  choose  thee  for 
a  consort,  or  make  thee  a  handmayde  unto  him.  But  I, 
alas,  shall  have  woes  unto  my  soule." 

With  these  words  th'  goddesse   hastily   replied,  being; 
incensed  against  her: 

"Wretch,  provoke  me  not,  least  I  may  hate  as  hereto- 
fore I  have  so  wondrously  loved  thee,  and  least  I  might, 
abandoning  thee,  cause  hatred  to  be  rife  among  th'  Trojans 
and  th'  Greekes.     Then  would  an  evil  fate  overtake  thee." 

Thus  th'  goddesse  spake:  while  Jove-descended  Helen, 
wrapping  her  long  white  robes  about   her,   went  downe- 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  245 

unnoted  by  the  Trojan  dames,  because  the  goddesse  led 
the  waye.  And  when  they  were  come  into  th'  lofty 
palace,  th'  maydes,  on  their  part,  turning  aside  retum'd 
to  their  tasks;  but  Helen  ascended  to  her  high  arch'd 
chamber:  and  the  goddesse  plac'd.  a  seate  for  her  opposite 
Alexander:  there  divine  Hellen,  th'  daughter  of  ^gis 
bearing  Jove,  sat,  averting  her  eyes,  and  addrest  him 
thus : — 

"Thou  art  come  from  the  field:  would  that  thou  had 
perisht  there,  slaine  by  th'  hand  of  him  I  once  call'd  hus- 
band,— Menelaus  that  brave  hero.  I  recall  that  frequentlie 
have  I  known  o'  thy  boasting  of  thy  superioritie  in  cour- 
age, strength,  and  handling  th'  speare.  Challenge  Mars- 
beloved  Menelaus  againe!  But  I  would  advise  thee  to 
refraine  from  combate  henceforth,  least  thou  bee  subdued 
by  th'  speare  of  faire-haired  Menelaus." 

But  th'  Sonne  of  Priam  answering  said:  "Woman, 
reproach  me  not,  nor  agitate  my  soule  with  thy  evill  words. 
By  th'  ayde  of  Minerva  now  indeed  hath  Menelaus  con- 
quer'd ;  but  I  in  turn  shall  vanquish  him,  since  th'  gods  are 
also  with  us.  But  come,  let  us  delight  in  dalliance,  for 
now  doth  sweet  love  fill  my  thoughts,  even  more  then 
when  I  first  brought  thee  away  from  pleasant  Lacedaemon, 
when  in  th'  island  of  Cranae  wee  were  mingl'd  in  love. 
Come  let  us  recline  upon  our  couch." 

Thereupon  he  ascended  his  perforated  couch,  and  Helen 
followM  with  him,  and  they  repos'd  together. 

Meanwhile  Menelaus  was  raging  up  and  downe  among 
th'  Trojans  like  some  savage  beast,  seeking  Alexander. 
But  not  one  of  th'  Trojans  could  reveale  his  place  of 
hiding;  for  none  of  them  would  have  ayded  him,  because 


246  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

they  hated  him  like  sable  death.     Whereupon  King  Atrides 
thus  address'd  them: 

"Th'  victorie  appeareth  indeede  as  belonging  to  Men- 
elaus,  therefore  shall  ye  deliver  Helen  and  her  treasure, 
and  paie  th'  suita,ble  fine  which  shall  be  remember'd  by 
all  our  posterity." 

And  aU  the  other  Greekes  approv'd. 


IV. 


All  the  synod  of  th'  gods  was  seated  on  the  golden 
floor  with  Jove.  In  the  midst,  pouring  out  iSTectar,  Hebe, 
the  venerable  goddesse,  went  to  and  fro;  and  they  pledg'd 
each  othe',  drinking  out  of  the  goldene  cups,  looking 
toward  the  citty  of  th'  Trojans.  Jove  meanwhile  was 
incensing  Juno,  speaki'g  with  bittemesse  thus: — 

"Two  goddesses,  indeede,  favour  Menelaus,  Argive  Juno 
with  Minerva  o'  Alalcomenae.  Yet  both  these  sit  apart 
looking  on,  while  laughter-loving  Yenus  even  now  rescued 
th'  othe',  cov'ring  him  with  a  cloud.  But  come,  let  us 
consulte  whether  wee  will  renew  th'  conflict,  or  promote 
th'  friendship  between  both  these  parties;  for  th'  victory 
belongeth  to  Menelaus  as  the  matter  doth  now  rest." 

But  Juno  was  very  angrie  and  thus  addressed  him: 

''BalefuU  Jove,  sonne  of  mighty  Satume,  ever  having 
delight  in  th'  things  which  displease  me,  what  a  word  is 
this  that  thou  hast  spoken!  for  now  indeed  wouldst  thou 
render  my  labour  vaine,  which  I  have  undergone  assem- 
bling the  hosts, — even  tiring  the  steeds  to  perform  my 
behests,  and  bring  evills  to  Priam  and  his  sonnes." 

To  her  Jove  made  replie: 


ARGUMENT  OP  THE  ILIAD.  247 

"Strange  one !  "What  evills  hath.  Priam  done  unto  thee, 
that  thou  hast  such  hatred  toward  him?  Fain  wouldst 
thou,  entering  his  cittj,  devoure  ahve  Priam  and  his  sonnes, 
and  the  other  Trojans,  that  thou  might  satiate  thyselfe. 
If  at  any  subsequent  time  I  may  desire  to  overthrow  citties, 
where  dwell  men  deare  unto  thee,  seeke  not  to  hold  my 
hand, — ^for  although  greatly  imwilling,  I  now  freely  yield 
unto  thee, — ^least  this  be  a  cause  of  strife  or  contention 
betweene  us.  But  the  Trojans  are  most  estim'd  by  me 
in  my  heart,  for  there  my  altars  never  lack'd  a  sacrifice  or 
libation;  for  there  these  honours  none  omitted." 

And  Juno  answered: 

"Three  citties  are  most  dear  unto  mee,  Argos,  Sparta, 
and  wide-wayed  Mycenae;  whenever  thou  shalt  desire  to 
overthrowe  these,  I  will  by  no  meanes  stay  thee,  for  it 
is  not  meet  that  dissensio's  and  strife  come  betweene  us. 
Whence  thine  origin  thence  is  mine,  and  moreover  I  am 
thy  spouse;  I  therefore,  being  soe  fathered  and  soe  hus- 
banded, am  very  venerable,  and  thou  rulest  amongst  th' 
immortalls.  Let  us  then  duely  make  concessions — I  to 
thee  and  thou  to  mee.  Send  Minerva  therefore  to  th' 
plaine  and  instruct  her  to  incite  th'  Trojans,  that  they  may 
first  offer  injury  to  th'  widely  renown'd  Grreeks  contrairie 
to  the  league." 

Thus  she  spake,  and  Jove,  father  of  gods,  did  not  dis- 
obey. Instantly  he  summon'd  Minerva  and  spake  winged 
words  to  her  thus: 

"Hasten  to  descend  to  the  horse-breaking  Trojans  and 
the  weH-greav'd  Greekes,  and  incite  the  Trojans  first  to 
offe'  injury  to  Greekes,  contrary  to  th'  league,  that  there 
may  be  renewed  conflict." 


BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

And  Minerva  did  not  hesitate  to  obey, 
But,  like  th'  starre  Jove  sendeth  as  a  signe 
To  mariners  and  sailors  on  th'  deepe, 
And  to  the  various  nations  of  the  earth. 
Emitting  sparkes  of  light  in  her  descent, 
Minerva  quickly  leaped  into  their  ranks. 
Then,  awe-strucke,  one  to  other  uttered  this: 
•'Th'  arbiter  of  all  afaires  belowe, 
Great  Satume's  sonne,  hath  ordain'd  bitter  warre. 
Or  doth  establish  friendship  'twixt  th'  Greekes 
And  mightie  Priam's  hosts." 

Thus  did  they  speake; 
But  liken'd  to  Anthenor's  mighty  sonne, 
She  sought  brave  Pandarus  amidst  the  band 
That  follow'd  him  from  th'  ^sepus'  streams; 
And,  standing  near  him,  spake  in  winged  words: — 

"Would  thou  now  Pandaru',  Lycaon's  sonne, 
Lend  eare  unto  th'  counsells  that  I  give, 
No  longer  would  thy  bowe,  its  strong  cord  slacke, 
Hang  idly.     Thou  a  bitter  shaft  wouldst  aime 
At  Menelaus,  winning  endlesse  fame. 
And  thanks  and  favoure, — golden  gifts  as  rare 
As  prince  or  king  can  offer  unto  one 
Whom  he  delights  to  honour, — for  indeed 
All  Trojans  would  rejoyce,  could  they  beholde 
Brave  Menelaus  laid  upon  th'  pyle, 
Slaine  by  an  arrow  from  thy  mighty  bowe. 
Especially  shall  Paris'  heart  be  glad; 
'No  limit  shall  there  be  to  gratitude, 
Nor  to  th'  treasure  in  rich  store  for  thee. 
Come  now,  I  pray  thee,  send  thy  mighty  shaft 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  249 

Into  their  midst,  and  vow  unto  Apollo 
A  splendid  hecatomb  of  firstling  lambes." 

So  saying,  his  unthinking  minde  she  wonne. 
In  haste,  straightway,  his  polisht  bowe  he  tooke, 
That    from    the    wild    goat's    branching    horns    was 

fashion'd. 
Once  from  the  ambush  on  a  mountayn  side, 
Lying  in  wait,  he  saw  that  noble  payre 
Proudlie  uplifted,  as  th'  bounding  goat 
Emerged  to  the  light.     There  clear  he  saw't 
Against  the  cavern's  mouth,  and  taking  aim. 
His  winged  shaft  that  square  white  breast  did  pierce, 
And  on  th'  rocks  supine  the  creature  lay. 
These  horns,  polisht  and  golden  tipt,  became 
Th'  bowe  Lycaon's  sonne,  most  masterfull. 
Did  bend.     Th'  pointe  he  rested  on  th'  ground, 
And  from  his  quiver  taking  off  the  cappe, 
Fitted  an  arrowes  notch  unto  th'  cord. 
While,  round  about  him,  shields  were  closely  rank'd 
By  his  companions,  lest  th'  watchfull  Greeks 
Espying  him  should  take  away  his  life. 
Ere  martiall  Menelaus  should  be  slaine, — 
The  leader  brave  of  all  the  Grecian  hosts. 

So  Pandarus  drew  back  the  tough  hide  string 
Untill  his  hand  did  rest  against  his  breast. 
While  the  shaftes  barb  nigh  to  the  bowe  was  brought 
A  moment,  ere  the  impatient  arrow  sped 
In  swift  flight  thro'  the  campe,  on  deadlie  quest. 

Ah!    Menelaus,  then  thyhoure  had  come. 
Had  not  blue-orbed  Pallas  at  thy  side 
Repell'd  that  shaft.     Ev'n  as  a  watchfull  mother 
Would  brush  a  flv  from  her  faire,  sleeping  child, 


260  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Minerva's  hand  th'  sharpe  pointe  turn'd  aside, 
And  firme  infixed  in  his  girdle's  claspe. 
Its  course  thus  silently  and  swiftly  stayed, 
That  wicked  arrow  little  harm  might  worke, 

:  Yet  did  its  pointe  breake  through  th'  tender  skinne; 

;  And  the  white  columns  of  those  ivory  thighs, 

Th'  sturdy  knees,  and  th'  faire  feete  belowe, 
"Were  bath'd  in  blood,  blacke  as  th'    sacred  Styx. 
Then  'gan  that  heroes  heart  to    quail  with  feare; 
But,  looking  downe,  th'  corde  outside  he  saw. 
And  once  more  gathered  courage  in  his  brest. 

When  Agamemnon  sawe  that  coal-blacke  stream 
Gushing  from  out  his  martiall  brother's  side, 
Lamenting  loud,  Atrides'  hand  he  grasp'd. 
And  thus  hee  spake,  and  his  companions  nigh 
Lamented  also: 

"My  beloved  brother. 
By  this  inglorious  league  thy  doome  I  seal'd: 
Alone  thou  sufferest  for  all  th'  Greekes 
Through  Trojan  treacherie.     But,  even  now, 
I  see  them  with  their  wives  and  tender  babes 
Paie  with  their  lives  a  debt  to  righteous  Jove; 
Already  is  his  heavy  hand  outreach' d, — 
His  lightnings  quiv'ring,  eager  to  fly  forth, — 
And  Priam  and  his  eitty  shall  lie  low. 
But  thou,  alas,  shalt  rest  in  forraine  soile, 
While  wee  retume,  disgrac'd,  to  our  faire  land 
Beyond  th'  sea.     For  if,  indeed,  our  leader 
Fall  by  th'  hands  of  Trojans,  or  allies, 
All  then  will  long  for  home  and  fatherland; 
And,  leaving  Argive  Helen  to  our  foes. 
In  hastie  flight  will  homeward  tume  our  shippes. 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  251 

Then  will  some  one  or  other  of  that  host,  - 

Leaping  and  dancing  on  thy  tomh,  speake  thus: 

'O  would,  indeed,  that  Agamemnon  ever 

Such  vengeance  wreak'd!     Yainly  his  fleet  he  led 

Across  th'  seas,  and  now  he  hath  return'd 

In  empty  vessells,  leaving  Menelaus, 

That  valiant  hero,  dead  in  Phrygia.' 

"When  this  shall  be,  may  then  the  gaping  earth      ^  ^ 

Ope  wide  to  swallow  me." 


But  brave  Atrides, 
Marking  his  brother's  grief,  spake  hastilie: 
'TLet  not  the  Greeks  see  feare  and  sad  distrust  ; 

Goveme  the  motion  of  a  kinglye  eye: 
No  man,  indeed,  should  have  one  throe  of  feares 
Lest  hee,  by  showing  it,  his  host  dishearten. 
No  feare  have  I  of  death,  or  thought  of  dying. 
For  slight  the  wound  must  be.    This  well-wrought  belt 
Of  many  colours  blent  hath  stay'd  this  shafte; 
Th'  pointe  is  tum'd  ere  reaching  vitall  parts." 

To  him  the  chief e  replied:    "So  may  thy  words 
Be  true,  th'  gods  preserve  thy  life  for  aye! 
But  forthwith  will  we  send  unto  Machaon, 
Th'  Grecian  hero;   he  th'  wound  will  probe 
And  draw  th'  poyson'd  shaft,  with  remedies 
Which  Chiron  gave  to  vEsculapius 
Relieve  th'  pain." 

He  cal'd  th'  messenger, 
Talthybius,  and  said  in  winged  words: 
"Haste  thee,  Talthybius,  to  seeke  the  sonne 
Of  .^sculapius,  divine  Machaon, 
And  bid  him  unto  Menelaus  haste. 


252  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Chief  e  of  the  Greekes,whom  some  one  midst  the  bands 

Of  Trojan  archers,  or  of  Lycian, — 

To  whom  'tis  glorie,  but  to  us  a  griefe, — 

Hath  wounded  with  an  arrow.     Bid  him  come, 

And  with  some  panacea  ease  the  wound." 

Talthybius  straightway  obey'd,  and  sought 
Divine  Machaon  'midst  th'  eager  hosts 
That  throng'd  him  round.  By  him  hee  stood,  and  gave 
Th'  message  of  imperial  Agamemnon, 
Bidding  him  come  with  speed;    then,  turning,  led 
His  swift  steps  to  Atrides,  'midst  his  ranks 
Of  grieving  souldiers. 

From  the  wound,  with  care. 
The  bitter  arrow  this  physitian  drew. 
Yet  were  the  barbes,  as  it  was  done,  snapt  off; 
'Next  hee  th'  embroider'd  girdle's  claspes  undid, 
And  well-wrought  plate  beneath,  most  tenderly, 
And  in  the  wound  did  poure  a  healing  balme. 

Meanwhile,  across  th'  plaine,  the  Trojan  hosts 
In  warlike  guise  advancing,  might  bee  seene. 
Then  would  you  not  surprise  brave  Agamemnon, 
Nor  see  him  hesitate  nor  shunne  the  fight; 
But  hastening  forth,  hee  bade  Eurymedon, 
Th'  Sonne  of  Ptolymseus,  to  be  nigh 
With  steeds  and  chariot  against  a  time 
That,  wearied  with  the  labors  of  the  field, 
Hee  might  gaine  respite.     Many  hurried  on; 
To  these  he  spake  swift  words  of  cheer,  thus  saying: 

"Argives!    remit  not  any  of  your  ardor. 
For  Jove  will  not  of  falsnesse  bee  th'  abettor; 
The  flesh  of  all  false  Trojans  shall  be  food 


ARGUMENT  OP  THE  ILIAD.  253 

To  cormorants.     Ay,  and   their  wives  and  cMldren 

(Since  they  this  solemne  league  did  violate, 

And  j&rst  did  offer  injury),  for  this. 

Shall  hence  within  our  sable  shippes  be  borne, 

As  we  returne  to  our  dear  native  land 

Triumphant  conquerours.     Then  shal  faire  Troy, 

And  all  that  mighty  band,  lie  lowe  i'  th'  dust." 

But  when  he  found  a  soldier  loytering. 
Or  any  that  would  shrink  backe  from  the  fight, 
To  these  in  wing'd  words  spake  he:    "Arrow  fighters, 
Why  stand  ye  here  like  fawnes,  which  frighted  runne 
Along  th'  plaine,  then  all  dismaied  stand  gazing. 
As  if  there  were  noe  heart  within  their  brests? 
Will  ye  awaite  untill  these  Trojan  hosts 
Draw  nigh  with  fire,  and  all  the  Rhetaean  shore, 
Where  lie  your  shippes,  to  ashes  shall  bee  tum'd. 
That  ye  may  knowe  what  is  th'  will  of  Jove, — 
Whether  he  over  you  will  stretch  an  arm?" 

So  through  the  hosts  he  pass'd,  and  came  at 
length 
Where  brave  Idomeneus,  like  a  wild  boar 
Strong  in  his  might,  the  Cretan  bandes  did  lead, 
Comanding  in  th'  van;  while  in  the  reare. 
Where  in  close  ranks  they  stood,  Meriones 
The  phalanxes  urg'd  on.     !Nigh  him  he  paus'd 
While  thus  he  said: 

"Thou  brave  Idomeneus,  * 

Most  valiant  art  thou,  ever  in  th'  strife. 
And  at  the  solemne  feasts,  to  mee  thy  cup 
At  all  times  standeth  ready  to  be  quaff'd. 
Would  thou  now  prove  it,  hasten  to  th'  field."  \ 


254  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Idomeneus  replied:    "I  have  in  truth 
To  thee,  O  Agamemnon,  ever  beene 
A  most  congeniall  friend  and  firme  ally, 
And  such  I  will  to  end  of  time  bee  found. 
But  do  thou  haste  to  exhort  th'  othe'  chief  es,  since  now 
A  treacherous  army  of  Troy's  strongest  forces, 
In  violation  of  the  league,  approach, 
First  having  offer'd  injury  to  thee." 

Mighty  Atrides,  much  rejoyc'd  in  heart 
At  words  like  these,  hasten'd  along  the  field; 
Soone  nigh  unto  th'  Ajaces  he  stood, 
And  round  about  foot-souldiers,  tall,  were  throng'd 
Most  like  a  cloude,  that  oft  the  goatherd  spieth, 
Dark  as  th'  night,  in  pitchy  masses  roll'd 
!  Acrosse  wild  seas  that  it  to  fury  lasheth; 

And  shudd'ring  deepe,  he  doth  a  cove'  seek 
In  cleft  stone  wall  upon  th'  mountayne  side, 
Where  [he]  himselfe  and  tender  herd  will  lie, 
Untill  th'  tempest  cease.     Like  such  a  cloude, 
The  phalanxes  acrosse  th'  waste  did  move, 
With  spears  and  shields  that  bristled  like  a  wood. 
When  these  hee  viewed,  Atrides,  standing  nigh. 
Spake  to  them  winged  words,  in  heart  rejoycing: 

"Ye  Ajaces,  to  exhort  you  like  the  others, 
111  would  become  my  state.     Well  do  I  know 
That  ye  your  army  urge  unto  th'  fight, 
Exciting  in  each  heart  desire  of  glorie. 
Would,  O  great  fathe'  Jove,  ruler  of  earth, 
And  thou  Apollo  and  Minerva  mighty, 
Such  courage  were  in  all !     Then  might  we  see 
Priam's  faire  cittie  bending  to  its  ruin, 
And  all  its  glorie  levell'd  in  the  dust." 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  355 

Heere  ceas'd  his  speech,  and  leaving  them  still 
standing, 
Hee  to  the  others  joyously  did  passe, 
And  Nestor  soone  approacht.     The  Pylian  sire. 
Surrounded  by  th'  other  ehiefes,  hee  found 
Exhorting  eagerly  these  comrades  nigh, 
To  leade  the  hosts  to  the  tumultuous  battaile. 
There  might  you  note  'midst  all  the  noble  throng, 
Th'  mighty  Pelegon,  with  bold  Chromius, 
Bias,  who  was  th'  shepheard  of  th'  people, 
Alastor  and  Prince  Hsemon,  gather'd  round 
To  hear  the  sage,  and  mark  how  skilfuUie 
His  hosts  hee  marshalleth.     Th'  horsemen  first. 
With  their  strong  chariots  shining  with  brasse 
Most  brightly  burnished,  and  pawing  steeds; 
The  sturdy  foot,  like  solid  wall  of  stone. 
Guarded  th'  reare;  while  i'  their  midst  the  cowherds 
Were  held,  that,  by  the  rushing  tide  of  warriours 
Eesistlessly  swept  on  unto  the  fray. 
They  needes  must  mix  with  Troyans,  and  must  fight 
Or  bee  cut  down.     Having  accomplisht  this, 
The  aged  sire  address'd  them  in  swift  wordes: 

"Let  no  man  here,  relying  on  the  skill 
Hee  hath  in  armes,  rush  singly  in  the  thicke 
O'  mightie  conflict;  rather  let  every  man. 
If  possible,  extende  his  weapon  forth. 
And  with  th'  pointe  his  neighbour's  chariot  touch. 
Por  thus  th'  valiant  men  of  former  times, 
Against  a  foe  in  solide  ranks,  did  moove 
And  overtume  the  strongest  phalanxes: 
Like  these  therefore  go  forth  to  victorie." 


BIrLITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

So  spake  the  aged  man,  long  since  well  skill'd 
In  conduct  o'  th'  warres;  to  him  Atrides: 

'Would,  worthiest  Nestor,  that  some  other  man 
This  weight  of  yeares  soe  heavy  might  upbeare. 
And  that  thy  strength  might  equall  to  the  heart 
Within  thy  breast,  since  thus  to  thee  o'  late 
Old  age  hath  come,  common  alike  to  all. 
And  ever  wearieth  thee." 

Thus  did  he  speake, 
And  the  Gerenian  knight,  old  Nestor,  said: 
"'Twere  well,  indeed,  if  now  I  could  again 
Th'  might  I  had,  when  in  my  prime  I  slew 
One  Eruthalion,  feel  in  hands  and  arms. 
But  never  all  their  glorious  giftes  to  men 
Doe  th'  gods  at  once  bestow.     If  then,  in  youth 
And  youthfull  strength  I  gloried,  now  olde  age 
In  turn  invadeth  me.     But,  even  now, 
I  much  desire  to  aide  men  with  my  counsel. 
And  ever  by  the  horsemen  doe  I  stand. 
When,  for  th'  conflict  marshalling  their  steeds, 
I  see  them  gather,  but  to  younger  men 
I  leave  th'  shield  and  spear." 

Thus  Nestor  spake. 
And,  hearing  him,  Atrides  joyously 
To  others  went,  addressing  every  chief 
Most  earnestlie.     Next  he  Menestheus  saw, 
A  Sonne  of  Peteus,  who  'midst  th'  Athenians 
Stood  quietlie;  by  him  crafty  Ulysses, 
Encircled  by  the  Cephallenians, 
Wee  see,  for  they  as  yet  no  sound  do  hear 
Of  dreadfu'  battaile  hurtling  i'  th'  ayre. 
And  waite  the  approach  of  other  hosts,  to  lead 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  257 

Into  its  turmoil.     Seeing  them  thus  stand, 
The  Sonne  o'  Atreus  hastily  approacht, 
Rebuking  boldlie  both  his  valiant  chiefes — 
Speaking  to  them  i'  words  which  had  swift  wings: 

"Thou  Sonne  of  Peteus  and  crafty  Ulysses, 
Why  stand  ye  idly  waiting  with  your  troops? 
Ye  should  be  first,  when  Trojan  hosts  draw  nigh, 
To  rush  headlong  into  the  thick  of  battaile. 
Ye  ever  are  th'  foremost  at  th'  feasts, — 
Th'  first  to  be  invited,  when  th'  Greekes 
A  banquet  to  their  chieftains  do  prepare. 
For  pleasant,  then,  ye  find  it  to  sit  there; 
Th'  meats  suit  well  such  tastes,  and  the  sweet  wines, 
'Tis  your  delight  to  quafFe." 

But  stem  Ulysses 
To  him  replying  said:    "O  sonne  o'  Atreus, 
What  foolish  language,  now,  th'  barrier 
Guarding  thy  mouth  oreleapeth!    for  if  thou  wouldst 
At  the  battell  once  take  note  whatere  I  do, 
Thou  wouldst  not  se  Telemachus'  bold  sire 
Shrink  fro'  th'  turbulent  and  noisy  conflicte; 
For,  ever  in  th'  thick,  when  spears  do  bristle 
Like  to  a  thomie  wood,  my  strong  arm  findeth 
Work  such  as  suites  the  might  of  sturdiest  sinewes. 
But  thou,  Atrides,  ever  speakest  rashlie." 

When  Agamemnon  thus  knew  of  the  anger 
That  stirr'd  in  brave  Ulysses'  crafty  minde. 
He  hastily  and  smoothly  spake,  attempting 
A  speech  illy  advised  to  retract. 
Smiling  hee  said: 

"I  neyther  would  reproove, 
Nor  ev'n  exhort  thee,  urging  thee  to  fight. 


258  BI-LITBRAL,  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

For  well  do  I  th'  minde  thou  hast  descry, 
And  knowing  how  thy  friendly  cou'sels  ever 
Accord  with  my  owne  thoughts,  and  that  thy  judge- 
ment 
Doth  crye  i'  th'  top  o'  mine,  in  thee  I  rest, 
And  pray  th'  gods  t'  render  my  rude  words 
Vaine  and  unmeaning,  if  I  spake  not  well. 
Of  this  at  greater  leasure  will  we  speake 
After  th'  battaile." 

With  these  words,  Atrides 
Went  to  that  band  led  by  the  sonne  of  Tydeus, 
Brave  Diomed,  with  valiant  Sthenelus, 
The  Sonne  of  Capaneus.     These  standing  near 
As  they  beside  their  polisht  chariots 
Idly  do  wait,  he,  speaking  swift  reproof 
In  words  that  winged  were,  addrest  them  thus: 

^Why  stand  ye  idly  here,  scanning  the  ranks 
If  haply  yee  may  find  waye  of  escape? 
Not  thus,  O  Diomed,  thy  valiant  sire 
Olde  Tydeus  fought,  as  to  mine  ear  report 
Of  former  warres  hath  told  of  his  brave  deeds — •• 
For  him  I  never  met,  never  beheld — 
But  I  have  heard  that  he  excell'd  the  bravest, 
And  toyl'd  with  workes  of  warre  far  in  th'  van. 
Certaine  I  am,  with  god-like  Polynices, 
Mycenae  he  did  enter,  seeking  ayde 
'Gainst  Thebes  to  lead  an  expedition. 
Most  eloquently  did  he  supplicate, 
And  urg'd  them  stronglie  to  beecome  allies, 
That  thus  hee  might  obtaine,  unto  th'  purpose. 
Auxiliaries  renow'd  and  skil'd  in  fight. 
Had  Jove   withheld   his   unpropitious   omens. 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD. 

Many  Mycenseans  had  joyn'd  his  ranks. 

But  they  retiring  came  to  fayre  Asopus, 

Rushie  and  greene.     This  noble  hero  next 

Was  sent  upon  a  distant  embassie. 

There,  in  the  palace  of  Eteocles, 

Many  Cadmeans  at  a  feast  were  found; 

But  nothing  daunted  by  soe  great  a  numbe', 

Th'  valiant  knight  boldlie  did  challenge  all, 

However  many  would  with  him  co'tend. 

Mighty  Minerva  was  so  great  a  second 

That  easily  he  did  orecome  his  foes. 

And  won  in  every  contest.     This  enrag'd 

The  proud  Cadmean  youths,  goaders  of  steeds. 

And  fifty  of  them,  going  slily  forth, 

Prepar'd  an  ambuscade  'gainst  his  return. 

There  were  two  leaders,  Mseon,  th'  brave  sonne 

O'  noble  Hsemon,  and  bold  Lycophontes, 

Sonne  of  Autophanus,  foremost  in  fight. 

And  last  to  leave  the  field.     These  Tydeus  slew. 

Sparing  not  one  save  onely  Hsemon's  sonne; 

Thereby  th'  threat'ning  portents  of  the  gods 

Wiselie  obeying,  him  alive  he  sav'd 

And  sent  him  home.     Such  was  ^tolian  Tydeus, 

But  he  begat  a  sonne,  inferiour  far 

In  courage,  though  superior  in  counsell." 

Thus  did  he  speake,  and  Diomed  was  still, 
So  greatly  did  hee  reverence  the  king. 

K'ot  so  the  sonne  of  Capaneus,  renown'd, 
Who  quicklie  did  reply:    "Lie  not,  O  sonne, 
To  Atreus,  the  divine,  since  thou  dost  know 
The  truth  right  well  to  speak.     Xever  againe 
Compare  us  thus  unto  our  ancestors, 


260  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

For  we,  indeed,  doe  rightly  boast  tO'  bee 
Far  better;  for  we,  too,  the  citadell 
Of  seven-gated  Thebes  have  overturn'd. 
Leading  beneath  the  walls,  that  sacred  are 
Unto  the     god  of  warre,  far  fewer  troops: 
Their  owne  infatuation  was  their  ruine. 
Therefore  I  say,  nere  place  me  in  the  ranks 
Of  such  men  as  our  ancestors  have  beene." 

But  Diomed,  sternly  regarding  him, 
Address'd  him  thus:    "0  Sthenelus,  my  friend, 
Sit  thou  down  silent  and  obey  my  words. 
'Tis  surelie  no  reproach  unto  Atrides, 
Exhorting  thus  the  well  greav'd  Greekes  to  fight. 
His  shall  the  glorie  be,  the  honour  his, 
When  sacred  Ilium  shall  yeelded  be: 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  mourning  and  griefe 
Shall  keepe  with  him  their  watch,  if  ere  the  Greekes 
Shall  be  cut  off.     'Tis  time,  therefore,  to  be 
/'  Fill'd  with  impiteous  valour." 

Thus  he  spake, 
And  leaped  down  upon  the  earth  in  haste 
From  the  high  chariot,  girded  in  armes. 
JIow  dread  the  sound !     The  stoutest  heart  might  well 
Quake  as  it  heard. 

As  in  the  ocean  wide, 
A  driving  wind  from  the  North-west  comes  forth 
With  force  resistlesse,  and  the  swelling  waves 
Succeed  so  fast  that  scarce  an  eye  may  see 
Where  one  in  pain  doth  bring  another  forth, 
Till,  on  the  rockie  shore  resounding  loud. 
They  spit  forth  foam  white  as  the  mountaine  snows. 
And  break  themselves  upon  the  orejutting  rocks — 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  261 

Thus,  mightily,  the  Grecian  phalanxes 

Incessantly  mov'd  onward  to  th'  battaile. 

It  might  not  then  be  said,  that  anie  man 

Possessed  power  of  human  speech  or  thought, 

So  silentlie  did  they  their  leaders  follow 

In  reverentiall  awe.     Each  chief  commanded 

The  troops  that  came  with  him — each  led  his  owne — 

Glitt'ring  in  arms,  bright,  shining  as  th'  sunne 

While  in  well  order'd  phalanxes  they  mov'd. 

Th'  Trojan  hosts  were  like  unto  a  flocke. 
Close  in  a  penne  folded  at  fall  of  night. 
That  bleating  looke  th'  waye  their  young  ones  went, 
And  fill  th'  ayre  with  dire  confusion — 
Such  was  the    noyse  amongst  the  Trojan  hosts. 
No  two  gave  utterance  to  the  same  crye. 
So  various  were  the  nations  and  the  countries 
From  which  they  came.     Mars  these  incited  forth, 
Minerva  those  inspir'd,  with  Terror  dread. 
And  Rout;  and  Strife — the  sister  unto  Mars, 
Th'  homicide — she  goeth  on  the  ground 
And  yet  doth  hide  her  head  in  mistie  clouds, 
And  while  along  the  plaine  they  madly  haste. 
She  casts  amongst  them  wild  contention. 

Like  wintry  mountaine  torrent  roaring  loud 
That  frightes  th'  shepheard,  in  th'  deepe  ravine 
Mixing  th'  floods  tumultuously  that  poure 
From  forth  an  hundred  gushing  springs  at  once. 
Thus  did  the  deaf'ning  battaile  din  arise. 
When  meeting  in  one  place  with  direfuU  force. 
In  tumult  and  alarums,  th'  armies  joyn'd. 
Then  might  of  warriour  met  an  equall  might; 
Shields  clasht  on  shields,  th'  brazen  spear  on  spear. 


BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

While  dying  groans  mixt  witli  the  battaile  cry 
In  awesome  sound;  and  steedes  were  fetlock  deepe 
In  blood,  fast  flowing,  as  th'  armies  met. 

Antilochus  first  slew  Echepolus. 
Upon  th'  horsehair  crested  helmet  of  the  Trojan, 
Th'  mighty  speare  struck  such  a  deadly  blow. 
It  pierced  through  th'  well  wrought  plates  of  brasse, 
And  deepe  within  his  forehead  was  infixed. 
Now  sodainely  blacke  death  oreshadowes  him, 
And  like  a  tower  he  f  alleth  in  th'  dust, 
In  that  fierce  coniiicte.     Elephenor  then. 
Chief  of  th'  most  magnanimous  Abantes, 
Seeing  him  fall,  in  all  swift  haste  proceeded 
To  drag  him  forth  and  of  his  armes  despoyle  him. 
But  this  Agenor,  th'  magnanimous,  descrying, 
Aimed  at  him  with  skill  his  heavie  beam, 
Ev'n  as  the  hero,  bending  down,  reveal'd 
His  side  unguarded  'neath  his  brazen  shield. 
At  once  the  limbes  relax'd,  and  falling  down, 
In  groans  he  breathed  out  his  heavie  soule. 
Then  rose  most  dreadfuU  conflict  'mongst  the  foes — 
Trojan  'gainst  Greek,  and  Greek  'gainst  Trojan  rush'd, 
As  they  had  beene  the  wild  wolves  of  the  forest. 
And  each  bore  down  his  man.     Then  mightie  Ajax, 
Sonne  to  brave  Telamon,  smote  Simoisius, 
Th'  faire  young  sonne  of  bold  Anthemio', 
When,  formerlie,  his  mother  (following 
Her  honor'd  sire)  descended  downe  Mount  Ida, 
To  beare  her  parents  companie  as  they  view'd 
Th'  assembl'd  flocks,  there  on  the  flow'ry  banks 
Of  Simois  did  she  bring  forth  this  sonne. 
And  for  that  cause  him  Simoisius  nam'd. 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  268 

But  nere  could  he  repay  th'  tender  care 
Lavish'd  on  him,  for  Ajax  saw  his  forme 
As  he  advanc'd,  and  smote  him  with  his  speare. 
Straight  at  his  brest  hee  sent  that  heavie  beam 
And  pierc'd  him  through:  th'  sharpe  point  might  bee 

seene 
Protruding  from  his  shoulder.     Now  he  lieth 
Low  in  th'  dust,  like  some  f  aire  poplare  tree, 
Whose  branches  smooth  that  grow  upon  th'  toppe, 
Th'  chariot  builder  lops  and  fairly  trimms 
For  felloes  to  a  royal  chariot  wheel: 
Upon  th'  bankes  it  lies  and  slowly  drieth. 
Thus  high-borne  Ajax  did  this  princelie  sonne 
Of  brave  Anthemion  spoyle,  though,  to  avenge  him, 
A  Sonne  of  Priam's — ^Antiphus,  who  wore 
Th'  varied  corselet — aim'd  his  brazen  spear 
Pull  at  his  brest.     But  hee  escap'd  full  light, 
While  Leucus  fell,  friend  to  Laertes'  sonne, 
Strucke  in  th'  groyne.     Ulysses,  wroth  thereat, 
Rusht  through  th'  van,  bending  his  wrathfuU  ga^e 
Upon  th'  foe  with  threat  of  dreadfull  death. 
The  Trojans  backe  recoyl'd  as  he  drew  near. 
And,  when  he  hurl'd  his  massive  brazen  spear, 
Th'  foremost  ranks  broke  in  confusion; 
Ev'n  Hector  shrank  from  th'  f urie  of  his  looke, 
iN'one  there  could  meet  it:    nor  was  it  in  vaine 
He  threw  his  speare,  since  Priam's  bastard  sonne, 
Democoon  of  Abydus,  was  strucke. 
Who  lately  came  fro'  'tending  th'  fleet  mares 
Priam   there   kept.     Th'    sharpe    pointe    pierc'd    his 

temple. 
And  darkenesse  veyl'd  his  eyes,  as  downe  he  fell. 


264  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Then  rose  a  shout  from  all  the  Argive  train 
As  wildly  on  they  prest  in  mad  pursuite; 
Apollo  at  th'  sight  was  sore  displeas'd, — 
Greatly  he  grew  in  wrath,  and  looking  downe 
From  Pergamos,   he  shouted  to  th'    Trojans: 

"Yee  Trojan  warriors,  rouse  yee  to   the  fight, 
Nor  yeeld  th'  battell  to  th'  impiteous  Greekes; 
Their  flesh  is  not  of  stone,  nor  yet  of  brasse, 
Impenetrable  to  well-pointed  speares; 
Nor  doth  th'  sonne  of  faire  hair'd  Thetis  fight, 
Mighty  Achilles,  for  at  th'  ships  he  sits 
Nursing  his  spleene." 

'Twas  thus  Apollo  spake. 
Meantime,  Tritonia'  Pallas  to  th'  Greekes 
Spake  words  of  cheare,  whenere  she  saw  them  flagging, 
That  straight  did  rouse  new  courage  in  th'  breast. 

But  fate  ensnar'd  Diores  in  her  toyles, 
Diores,  sonne  to  Amarynceus  brave, 
VoT  with  a  jagged  handstone  was  hee  struck 
Upon  the  leg  above  the  ancle  joynt. 
Th'  leader  of  th'  Thracian  warriours,  Pirus, — 
Th'  sonne  of  Imbrasus,  who  came  from  vEnos, — 
It  was  that  hurl'd  the  swift  impiteous  stone, 
That,  crushing  bone  and  sinew  at  a  blow, 
A  wyde  way  made  t'  let  forth  living  breath. 
So  downe  hee  fell  supine  upon  the  sands  , 

And  breathed  forth  his  life.     Yet  Pirus  stay'd  not; 
Hee  still  ran  on  and  thrust  him  with  his  spear: 
Then  all  his  bowels  in  his  body  brast,        ' 
While  darknesse  vayl'd  his  eyes. 

^tolian  Thoas, 
"With  fury  fierce  and  wild,  then  'pon  him  fell. 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  365 

And,  with  the  push  of  his  sharp-pointed  speare, 

So  strong  and  hard  strooke  Pirus  on  the  breast, 

It  seized,  as  a  vulture's  evill  beak, 

Upon  his  lungs.  Then  Thoas,  hastily, 

Out  of  the  gored  wound  the  cruell  speare 

Lightly  doth  snatch,  and  straightwaye  his  quick  sword 

Out  of  his  sheath  hee  drew,  and  smote  him  there 

And  took  away  his  life;  yet  did  hee  not 

Of  war-like  armes  despoyle  the  fallen  hero, 

Because  that,  suddenlie,  around  him  gather'd 

A  Thracian  band,  that  drove  him  from  his  prize 

At  point  o'  speare.    Valiant  and  glorious 

He  was,  and  strong  of  heart,  yet  muBt  he  yeeld 

Unto  that  hot  and  fierce  repulse,  for  none. 

How  brave  soever,  could  withstand  such  force. 

Thus  was  th'  Thracian  leader.  Pirns,  slain. 

And  likewise,  lying  low  i'  th'  dust,  we  see 

Beside  him  that  Epean  leader  brave, 

Diores,  while  full  many  more  close  by. 

Like  fruitlesse  seed,  their  lives  around  did  strow. 

Then  could  not  anie  man  behold  that  fight. 

And  say  the  action  was  not  glorious. 

Whether  of  those  who  at  a  distance  stood 

With  sharp  spears  fighting,  and  escap'd  the  blows, 

Or  those  who  near  at  hand  had  yet  not  felt 

The  piercing  brasse,  though  in  the  fiercest  strife, — 

Whom  eage'  Pallas  leading  by  the  hand        " 

Preserv'd  from  death,  and  skilfullie  averted 

Th'  violent  darts:  nor  truly  may  one  tell. 

How  many  Greek,  how  many  Trojan  knights, 

Stretch'd  prone  upon  the  earth,  lay  side  by  side 

Coldly  embracing  death. 


266  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

This  work  is  hereafter  persew'd  after  the  originall 
modell,  with  the  argument  of  the  twentie  following  books 
given  in  this  manner.  The  preceding  verses,  although  more 
then  a  running  note,  were  written  as  a  supream  effort  of 
memorie,  yet,  also,  with  a  desire — which  was  naturall — of 
making  the  work  in  some  measure  easier;  for  this  reason 
also,  much  of  book  three,  and  the  table  of  the  commanders, 
doth  appear  in  full,  but  not  in  the  form  which  it  hath  in 
that  early  poeme.  Your  part  is  to  seeke  it  out,  and  fitly 
joyne  the  fragments,  to  do  which  you  doe  not  surely  need 
furder  instruction,  but  much  patience  and  skill. 


V. 


In  the  fift  book  of  this  great  poeme,  will  the  exploits  of 
Diomedes  be  related,  who  perform'd  miracles  of  valour  and 
even  wounded  Yenus  in  the  hand.  And  Mars  likewise  he 
drave  roaring  from  the  field,  hurt  and  wrathful,  for  both 
these  imortals  ayded  the  Trojans.  But  them  mightie  Dio- 
medes dreadeth  not  to  engage  in  a  hand  to  hand  conflict, 
for  Minerva  render'd  him  both  glorious  and  mightie,  mak- 
ing his  helmet  and  shield  shine  like  a  sommer  starre,  like- 
wise increasing  the  strength  of  his  sinews  and  th'  courage 
in  his  breast. 

First  the  two  sonnes  of  Yulcan's  blamelesse  priest. 
Dares,  rich  and  famous  as  well,  Phegeus  and  Idseus,  skill'd 
in  all  sorts  of  battaile,  rusht  upon  Diomed  as  he  stood  alone ; 
but  with  his  javelin,  hee  thrust  Phegeus  downe  and  forc'd 
him  out  of  his  chariot.  Then  Idseus,  fearing  like  harm, 
leapt  downe  from  th'  very  b'eautifull  chariot,  nor  stay'd  to 
protect  the  body^  of  his  brother,  whose  fate  he  surely  would 
at  once  bring  upon  himselfe,  could  he  not  escape.     Vulcan, 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  267 

mov'd  with  compassio'  to  the  old  man,  sav'd  his  sonne,  cov- 
ering him  with  a  thieke  cloud.  But  when  the  Trojans  saw 
the  sonnes  o'  Dares,  one  slaine,  the  other  in  flight,  all  their 
hearts  were  discomforted. 

Thereupon  Pallas  Minerv^a,  leading  Mars  gently  from 
th'  field,  seated  him  upon  grassie  Scamande',  saying  to  him 
that  'twere  much  better  should  they  leave  th'  battaile  to  th' 
Greekes  and  Trojans,  that  the  wrath  of  Jove  might  be 
averted.  Afterwards  th'  Greekes  turn'd  th'  Trojans  to 
flight,  while  each  leader  slew  his  man.  Agamemnon,  vio- 
lently hurling  forth  th'  mighty  spear,  smote  the  leade'  o' 
th'  Halizonians,  Hodius,  that  first  did  turn.  Betweene  th' 
shoulder  blades  that  sharpe  point  enter'd,  and  piere'd 
through  his  brest.  With  a  crash  he  fell  and  his  armes  re- 
sounded loud. 

Then  Idomeneus  slew  Phaestus,  who  came  from  fertile 
Tame,  a  sonne  to  Mseonian  Borus.  Him  with  his  long 
lance  he  wounded  in  the  shoulder,  when  as  he  was  mount- 
ing his  chariot.  So  downe  he  fell,  and  darknesse  seiz'd 
him;  Idomeneus'  companions,  his  attendants,  despoyl'd  him 
of  his  armes. 

Next  Menelaus,  sonne  of  Atreus,  kill'd  Scamandrius,  the 
sonne  of  Strophius,  skill'd  in  the  chase,  an  excellent  marks- 
man. l!^ow,  indeed,  cannot  avail  the  ayd  of  arrow-rejoycing 
Diana,  nor  his  skilful  long-distance  shots,  because  Menelaus, 
the  sonne  of  Atreus,  hurled  at  him  his  sharpe  spear,  and 
smote  him  so  fiercely  in  the  back  that  th'  sharpe  point 
piere'd  thorow  his  brest.  So  he  fell  prone,  and  his  armes 
resounded  loud. 

Meriones  slew  Phereclus,  sonne  to  th'  artist  Harmon  who 
was  skill'd  in  all  handicraft — for  Minerva  lov'd  him  exceed- 
ing well. — 'Twas  he  who  built  those    equall    shippes    for 


1868  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Paris,  th'  source  of  woes  and  bane  to  all  the  Trojans,  but 
most  to  himselfe,  not  knowing  what  was  meant  by  the 
oracles  of  the  gods.^ — Meriones  followed  close,  and,  overtak- 
ing him,  thrust  the  spear  into  his  hip.  Th'  brazen  pointe 
pass'd  through  beneath  the  bone,  and  penetrated  th'  bladder. 
Falling  upon  his  knees  with  loud  lamentings,  he  pass'd  into 
the  shadowes  of  death. 

Next  Pedseus  was  overtaken  by  Meges.  He  was  a  nat- 
ural Sonne  o'  Antenor  yet  noble  Theano  rear'd  him  as  care- 
fully as  her  own  dear  children,  to  gratifie  th'  heart  of  her 
husband.  Him  the  spear-fam'd  sonne  of  Phyleus,  Meges, 
thrust  through  the  back  of  the  head  with  a  spear,  and  the 
point  found  its  way  out  under  his  tongue  through  the  teeth: 
and  low  in  the  dust  hee  fell  as  he  caught  the  cold  head  in 
his  teeth. 

But  Eurypylus,  sonne  to  Evaemon,  kill'd  Hypsenor, 
Sonne  to  Dolopion,  Vulcan's  honoured  priest;  following 
him,  hee  smote  him  with  the  sword,  cutting  off  his  heavy 
hand  which  was  red  with  gore.  As  it  fell,  bloud-red  Death 
veyl'd  his  sight. 

Then  no  eye  could  distinguish  the  sonne  o'  Tydeus,  to 
know  to  which  army  he  belong'd.  Like  a  mountaine  tor- 
rent (that  neyther  bankes  nor  fences  may  keep  from  fair 
blooming  fields)  which,  swolne  gTeatly  by  th'  rain-storms  of 
fathe'  Jove,  tumultuously  doth  overflow  the  plaine,  and 
overturne  many  workes  the  vigourous  youths  have  labour'd 
long  to  compleat,  so  Diomedes  rusht  along  the  plaine  dis- 
comfiting th'  hosts  of  th'  foe.  Here,  there,  and  everywhere, 
at  once  hee  flew,  and  perform'd  prodegys  of  valour. 

When,  therefore,  Pandarus  saw  him  sweeping  through 
the  field  and  driving  the  Troyans  before  him,  hee  drew  his 
crooked  bow  and  aimed  at  him  an    arrowe,    by    which  he 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  26» 

thought  to  stay  his  course.  The  cruell  arrowe  sped  forth  sa 
swiftly  that  Diomedes  could  not  avoid  it.  The  shaft  struck 
sharply  upon  his  shoulder,  piercing  the  corselet  and  coming 
through  on  the  other  side. 

Seeing  this  Pandarus,  rejoycing,  exhorted  his  compan- 
ions to  return,  boasting  that  hee  had  wounded  to  the  death 
one  of  the  bravest  of  the  Grreekes.  But  Diomedes  approacht 
his  chariot  where  th'  sonne  of  Capaneus,  Sthenelus,  friend 
of  his  heart,  remain'd  with  th'  magnificent  chariot  and 
steeds,  and  entreated  him  that  he  would  leap  down  out  of 
the  chariot,  and  remove  from  the  wound  the  deeply  piercing 
arrow;  for  hee  was  anger'd  because  Pandarus  declared  he 
would  not  long  behold  th'  glorious  light  of  the  sun.  There- 
upon bold  Sthenelus  drew  forth  the  arrow,  and  the  blood 
spurted  through  th'  twisted  mayle. 

Then  Diomedes  prayed  aloud  to  Pallas  Minerva  that  she 
would  ayde  him  in  th'  fight,  if  ever  he  or  his  sire,  in  former 
times,  had  beene  aided  by  her.  His  prayer  was  heard,  and 
granted.  Minerva  increast  th'  might  of  his  soule  and  body 
many  times  more  then  their  wont,  and  also  made  his  eyes  sa 
clear  that  they  could  discerne  gods  and  men,  but  injoyn'd 
upon  him  to  injure  no  other  save  Venus  should  hee  chance 
to  meet  her.  Whereupon  hee  went  forth  at  once,  strong  in 
the  might  Minerva  bestow'd,  resembling,  indeed,  a  lion 
(that  a  heardsman  slightlie  grazing  as  he  leaps  over  the 
courtyard,  but  in  his  fright  injures  no  further)  [which]  re- 
joyces  as  he  sees  the  sheep  abandon'd,  soe  Diomedes, 
rejoyc'd  in  heart,  mixt  quickly  with  his  foes,  and  slew  so 
many  that  JEneas,  in  alarm,  sought  Lycaon's  sonne,  begging 
him  to  aim  an  arrow  at  th'  warriour  that  was  making  such 
havocke  among  th'  Trojans. 


270  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Both  fear'd  that  he  might  be  a  god,  angrie  because  their 
sacrifices  at  times  had  been  neglected. 

Pandariis  soone  recognis'd  him  as  T  jdeus'  sonne,  having 
seene  his  shield,  the  oblong  helmett  which  hee  wore,  and 
observing  his  steeds.  Yet  was  hee  perswaded  in  his  owne 
minde  it  was  not  meerelie  Tydides  whom  they  fought,  but 
that  hee  must  bee  ayded  by  some  one  of  the  immortalls, 
that,  standing  near,  wrapt  in  a  cloud  about  the  head  and 
shoulders,  turned  aside  the  shaft  that  otherwise  would  hit 
him;  for  he  would  not  thinke  that  it  was  by  any  lack  of 
skill  on  his  part  that  both  th'  chieftaines — the  sonne  of 
Tydeus  and  Atreus'  sonne — at  whom  he  had  aymed  swift 
arrows,  had  escapt  death,  inasmuch  as  he  saw  bloud  gush- 
ing from  th'  wounds. 

Therefore  hee  regretted  much  that  hee  had  not  brought 
with  him  th'  eleven  richly  ornamented  chariots  and  the 
steeds  which  he  had  left  at  the  palaces  of  his  sire.  In  his 
discomfiture  he  vowed,  that,  returning  to  Lycia,  he  would 
break  in  pieces  and  caste  into  the  fire  th'  crooked  bowe,  or 
the  forfeit  should  bee  his  owne  head. 

But  -^neas  reprov'd  Pandarus,  cheared  up  his  heart, 
and  stirred  up  his'  failing  courage.  Then  together  they  bore 
down  upon  Diomed  to  take  his  life  by  force.  Sthenelus, 
seeing  them  hiast'ning  on,  urg'd  Diomede  to  withdraw  from 
such  unequall  conflict.*  Diomed  did  not  falter,  however, 
Minerva  had  soe  steel'd  his  heart. 

With  loud  threats,  Lycaon's  sonne  aym'd  his  spear  at 
Diomedes  but  hurt  him  not.  Then  he,  in  turn,  hurl'd  his 
long  lance  at  Pandarus,  which  passed  through  his  mouth, 
coming  out  under  his  teeth;  so  downe  he  fell.  Then  he 
smote  ^neas  so  that  he  fell  upon  his  knees,  while  darknesse 
veyl'd  his  eyen.     Then  would  hee,  too,  have  perished,  had 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  271 

not  Venus  rescued  him  and  cover'd  him  in  folds  of  her  robe 
that  no  weapon  could  pierce.    Thus  was  hee  saved. 

Meantime  th'  magnificent  chariot  and  steeds  were  taken 
to  the  Greekes  by  Sthenelus,  who  was  not  heedlesse  of  those 
strict  commands  that  Diomedes  laid  upon  him.  But  hee 
himselfe  hastened  to  return  to  the  reliefe  of  Diomed,  who 
was  pursewing  laughter-loving  Venus  through  the  crowd. 
In  truth,  he  wounded  her  in  th'  hand,  causing  her  great 
paine,  so  that  she  screamed  aloud  and  cast  her  sonne  downe 
againe.  Thereupon  Apollo  cover'd  him  from  sight  bj 
casting  over  him  a  cloud.  Ichor  flowed  from  the  wound — 
for  they  eat  not  bread  nor  drinke  darke  wine,  therefore 
bloud  doth  not  flow  in  their  veines,  and  they  are  called 
immortalls.  Iris  seeing  this,  led  Venus  from  the  throng, 
and,  finding  Mars  upon  the  side  of  the  field,  begg'd  his 
steeds  in  order  to  take  Venus  to  Olympus.  Swiftly  were 
they  borne  upwards,  and  Dione,  mother  of  the  goddesse, 
soothed  her  and  wip'd  away  th'  icho'  gently,  so  that  she 
was  heal'd  at  once,  while  to  fortifie  Venn'  spirits,  she  told 
of  other  immortalls  that  suffer'd  paine  because  of  mortal 
foes.  First,  Mars,  who  was  imprisoned  thirteen  moneths; 
then  Juno,  who  was  wounded  by  a  three-prong  shaft;  then 
Pluto,  also.  But  she  foretold  a  short  life  to  Diomedes  be- 
cause of  his  rashnesse,  saying  that  no  sonne  should  lisp  th' 
name  of  father  at  his  knee.        9 

But  Juno  and  Minerva  scofiing  said  t'  Jove,  trulie  it 
could  be  only  a  scratch,  which  Venus  had  received  while 
she  caressed  some  dame  among  th'  Greekes,  whom  she 
wish'd  to  bring  away  for  th'  Trojan  chief es,  who  were  her 
principall  charge,  since  she  lov'd  them  dearly. 

Meanwhile  Diomedes  did  not  hesitate  to  attack  ^neas, 
tho'  conscious  he  would  also  strive  with  a  god,  because  hee 


372  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

was  shielded  by  Apollo.,  Thrice  did  he  advance  upo'  him, 
and  thrice  hee  was  repell'd  but  as  he  approach'd  for  th' 
fourth  time,  menaci'g  dreadfullie,  the  god  reproved  him 
and  bade  him  desist,  nor  thinke  himselfe  equall  to  th'  gods. 
Thus  he  was  forc'd  to  draw  backe  slightly.  Then  Apollo 
withdrew  ^neas  from  th'  fight,  and,  creating  a  phantom 
that  resembled  him,  sent  it  to  th'  battaile;  and  round  this 
the  contest  was  renewed  with  terrible  fury. 

Sitting  upon  Pergamos,  Apollo  exhorted  Mars  to  rouse 
th'  courage  of  the  Trojans,  which  hee  proceeded  to  do. 
Then  Sarpedon  addrest  Hector  recalling  to  his  mind  a  boast 
that  hee  and  his  kindred,  the  sonnes  of  Priam,  could  unaid- 
ed defend  th'  citty,  yet  they  affrighted  were  cowering  like 
dogs  before  a  lion. 

This  reproach  gnawed  Hector's  verie  soule,  and  bran- 
dishing in  his  hands  his  sharpe  speares,  hee  leaped  downa 
and  rusht  forth  rousing  their  ardor.  But  th'  Greekes,. 
awaiting  in  solide  ranks  their  attacke,  were  not  driven  backe 
nor  discomfited  by  the  onslaught. 

Th'  two  Ajaces  [and]  Ulysses  joyn'd  Diomedes,  inciting 
and  haranguing  them  to  hearten  them  for  a  terrible  strug- 
gle. Like  clouds  about  the  summit  of  Olympus  when 
Boreas  sleepeth,  and  all  other  windes  having  driven  away 
th'  soft  and  shadowy  vapour  are  hushed,  as  these,  calme, 
immovable,  stood  th'  Greekes. 

Apollo  in  the  meantime  had  sent  ^neas  back  to  the 
field  wholy  restored,  invigorated  and  endow'd  with  new 
powers.  This  greatly  rejoyc'd  th'  Trojans,  but  they  said 
not  a  word,  nor  asked  a  question,  so  great  was  the  labor 
each  warrior — leader  or  souldier — had  to  perform. 

The  Sonne  o'  Atreus  slew  a  chiefe,  who  was  vEneas' 
companion,     ^neas  kill'd  two  Greek  youthes,  sonnes  of 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  273 

Diodes,  descended  from  the  Eiver  Alpheus,  dwelling  in 
Pherse.  They  were  as  two  young  lions  with  the  dam, 
but  they  fell  like  lofty  firs  upon  th'  mountayne  side. 
Menelaus  seeing  this  pitied  them,  and  hastened  to  avenge 
their  death.  Pressing  forwards  through  the  vaj;,  shining 
in  brasse,  brandishing  his  spear,  he  stood;  but  Antilochus, 
th'  Sonne  of  Kestor,  saw  him  and  follow'd  him  to  give 
him  ayd,  for  he  fear'd  for  th'  shepheard  of  th'  people, 
least  they  should  bee  disappointed  of  their  hope.  But 
seeing  two  heroes  thus  standing,  ^neas,  though  an  eager 
warriour,  retreated.  Then  Agamemnon  hurling  with  his 
spear,  slew  a  generall  of  th'  Halizonians,  and  Antilochus 
hitting  his  charioteer  on  his  elbow,  causing  those  beautiful 
reines  to  droppe,  ran  on  to  drive  the  steeds  to  the  Greekes, 
and  quickly  retum'd  that  he  might  protecte  Agamemnon. 
Hector,  beholding  this,  rushed  on  vociferating  loudly, 
and  behind  him  the  Trojan  phalanxes  follow'd.  Mare  and 
venerable  Bellona,  with  tumultuous  Din,  were  with 
Hector — ^the  former  sometimes  pacing  before  him,  some- 
times in  th'  rerewarde.  Only  th'  dread  presence  of  th' 
god  could  terrify  Diomedes,  whose  course  is  stopt  as  by  a 
mightie  river;  but  addressing  his  companions,  he  exhorted 
them  not  to  put  their  lives  in  jeopardie  with  a  god,  for 
'twould  not  avail  ought.  Then  the  Trojans  advanc'd  very 
near,  and  Hector  slew  Menesthes  and  Anchialus,  both 
being  in  one  chariot.  And  Amphius,  who  had  come  as 
an  ally  to  Troy,  was  struck  with  a  speare  caste  by  Tela- 
monian  Ajax.  Falling,  he  made  a  crash:  then  illustrious 
Ajax  hastened  to  him,  set  his  heele  on  his  body,  and  drew 
from  the  bloudy  wound  his  brazen  speare,  but  did  not 
possesse  himselfe  of  any  armour  because  of  the  many 
speares  of  the  Trojans. 


274  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Thus  they,  on  the  one  hand,  tojl'd  in  conflict.  Now 
fate  urg'd  on  two  doughtie  heroes — sonne  and  grandesonne 
to  King  Jove — Sarpedon  and  Tlepolemus.  These  spake 
together, — Tlepolemus  first  addressing  brave  Sarpedon, 
taunted  the  sonne  of  Jove  with  his  unwarlike  nature,  ask- 
ing how  he  could  suppose  himselfe  the  sonne  of  Jove,  while 
boastes  of  th'  deeds  his  mighty,  lion-hearted  sire  in  former 
times  had  accomplish'd,  were  ever  mingl'd  with  his  scoffs; 
recounting  how  Hercules  had  come  to  Illium,  with  onely 
few  men  in  six  vessells,  and  overtum'd  the  citty,  widowing 
the  streets,  to  recover  the  steedes  which  Laomedon  still 
continued  to  withhold. 

Sarpedon,  unable  to  refute  the  charge,  himselfe  most 
frankly  admitted  the  defeate,  yet  cast  th'  blame  upon 
Laomedon;  but  he  on  his  owne  pairt  hence  would  send  th' 
soule  of  Tlepolemus  to  steed-fam'd  Pluto. 

Straightway  both  hurl'd  their  long  speares  at  th'  same 
instant.  Sarpedon's  enter'd  th'  neck,  and  darknesse  veil'd 
the  eyes.  But  the  ashen  speare  of  Tlepolemus  penetrated 
the  left  thigh,  grazing  th'  bone,  so  that  he  was  overthrowne, 
but  his  father  suffer' d  him  not  to  die. 

Then  his  companions  dragg'd  him  aside,  even  while  yet 
th'  speare  remained  in  th'  member,  and  it  gave  him  great 
sufferance.  As  hee  was  borne  thence,  Ulysses  was  uncer- 
taine  whether  'twould  bee  wiser  to  folow  Sarpedon  and 
put  an  end  to  his  life,  or  continue  a  slaughter  of  th'  Lycians. 
Jove  would  not  permit  his  sonne  to  be  subdued  under  th' 
mighty  spear  of  Ulysses,  and  Minerva  persuaded  th'  minde 
of  the  hero  to  tume  to  th'  latter.  He  slew  Coeranus,  Alcan- 
der,  Chromius,  Alastor,  Noemo',  Halius,  and  Prytanis 
and  would  still  have  continued  the  work,  had  not  Hector 
come  forth  in  shine  of  brazen  armour,  bearing  terror  to 
th'  Greeks. 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  275 

But  th'  heart  of  Sarpedon  rejoyc'd,  and  quickly  he 
address'd  Hector,  begging  that  hee  would  take  him  to 
Troy,  saying  hee  would  die  there  rathe'  then  where  he 
lay,  if,  indeed,  he  might  neve'  return  to  gladden  his  dear 
wife  and  infant  sonne.  Hector  stay'd  not,  however,  nor 
spake  a  word,  so  intent  was  he  upon  his  quest,  desiring 
onely  to  repell  th'  Greeks  and  take  the  lives  of  many. 

Then  th'  noble  companions  of  Sarpedon  remov'd  him, 
carrying  him  to  a  beautiful  beech  tree  of  -^gis-bearing 
Jove,  and  Pelagon  drew  forth  th'  speare.     Thereupon  ani-' 
mation  left  him  and  darknesse  fell  upon  his  eyes,  but  he 
reviv'd  when  Boreas  breath'd  over  all  th'  place. 

Th'  Greekes  did  not  (on  account  of  Hector  and  Mars) 
retire  to  th'  shippes,  nor  would  their  rankes  give  waye, 
yet  were  they  compell'd  to  yeeld  ground. 

Th'  question  commeth  here  as  to  whom  did  Mars  (with 
Hector)  slay,  and  answer  is  thus  made:  Teuthras,  th' 
knight  Orestes,  then,  ^tolian  Trechus,  with  CEnomaus, 
Helenus  of  the  race  of  CEnops,  Oresibus  of  Hyla,  neare 
Lake  Cephissus,  and  by  him  dwelt  other  Boeotians  who 
possess' d  a  rich  country. 

But  Juno  now  address'd  Minerva,  and  said  they  should 
now  come  short  of  th'  solemn  promise  made  to  Menelaus, 
did  they  permit  destructive  Mars  longer  to  rage,  and  bade 
her  devise  some  meanes  to  aide  him.  She,  herselfe,  sought 
her  golden  caparisoned  steeds,  and,  in  the  meantime,  vener- 
able Hebe  speedily  applied  to  th'  chariot — to  th'  iron  axle- 
tree  on  both  sides — th'  golden  eight  spok'd  wheeles.  Of 
these  th'  felloes  were  of  gold  imperishable,  but  the  tires 
that  rimmed  them  were  all  brasse;  th'  naves  of  silver; 
th'  body  was  stretched  on  with  gold  and  silver  thongs; 
and  from  a  double  circula'  rim  there  projected  th'  pole  of 


276  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

silver,  to  which  was  fastened  th'  beauteous  golden  yoake^ 
and  here  poytrells  of  gold  were  attach'd.  But  Juno 
brought  th'  steeds  under  th'  yoake  herselfe,  so  eager  was  th' 
goddesse  for  conquest  and  th'  battaile. 

Pallas  Minerva  let  fall  upon  th'  floor  o'  her  father 
Jove  th.'  beautifully  variegated  embroydered  robe  which 
she  wore,  and  hasten'd  to  put  on  a  tunick.  The'  round 
her  shoulders  she  threw  th'  dreadfull  fring'd  ^gis.  On  it 
appear'd  plum'd  Terror  on  all  sides;  thereon  was  mighty 
Fortitude;  thereon  also  was  chilling  Pursuite;  thereon 
was  Strife;  thereon  was  th'  dreadfull  Gorgonian  head,  dire,, 
horrible,  a  portente  of  ^gis-bearing  Jove.  Likewise  upon 
her  head  she  donned  her  foure-crested,  golden  helmet,  with 
spreading  metall  ridge,  equall  to  th'  armour  of  a  hundred 
citties.  Finally  she  took  in  hand  th'  mighty  speare  she 
was  wont  to  wield,  then  she  stept  into  her  beautifull  chariot; 
but  Juno  spurr'd  on  th'  restles,  pa\ving  steeds.  Then 
Jove's  faire  Howres,  which  watch  Olympus'  gates,  threw 
wide  th'  portals  that  they  should  goe  through,  and  soone  th' 
highest  summits  of  Olympus  were  gain'd,  and  Jove,  apart 
from  all  th'  others,  was  found  there  sitting. 

Eagerly  Juno  beg'd  that  she  might  drive  Mars,  th*" 
frantiek  one,  hither,  who  griev'd  her  with  th'  slaughte'  of 
so  many  Greeks  that  she  held  dear,  but  pleas'd  Apollo 
and  Venus,  who  had  let  slip  this  god  of  warre.  And  hee 
was  ready  to  gratify  her  wish,  but  bade  her  send  Minerva 
rather  then  go  herselfe. 

Thereupon  the  goddesses  descended  Olympus,  passing 
through  th'  space  midwaye  betweene  the  earth  and  that 
starrie  heaven.  At  each  leap  th'  steeds  went  as  farre  as 
th'  eye  can  reach  along  the  darkling  ocean  when  gray 
mist  doth  lie  over  it.     But  when  they  reached  Troy,  where 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  277 

th'  river  Simois  and  Scamander  joyne,  Juno  unyok'd  her 
steeds  and  shed  a  soft  mist  round  them.  Then  th'  River 
Simois  afforded  them  ambrosial  fodder. 

With  steppes  like  to  timorous  doves,  the  goddesses 
approach'd  th'  Greekes,  that,  as  ravening  lions  or  Avild 
boares,  stood  in  close  array  around  Diomed.  Likening  her- 
seKe  to  Stentor,  th'  great-hearted  and  braze'-ton'd,  who 
was  accustom'd  to  shout  as  loud,  indeed,  as  fiftie  other 
men,  Juno  cried  to  them  that  'twas  shame  to  them  all 
that  their  hearts  were  but  ill  suited  to  bodies  so  admirable, 
and  reminded  them  that  when  god-like  Achilles  was  in  the 
field,  th'  Troja's  fought  not  farr  from  th'  Dardan  gates, 
because  they  fear'd  his  speare,  but  that  they  now  ventur'd 
close  upon  the  holloue  shippes,  farre  away  from  the  citty. 

Then  blew^-eyed  Pallas  hasten'd  to  Diomedes,  and  found 
him  by  th'  side  of  his  chariot,  cooling  the  wound  he  had 
receiv'd  from  th'  swift  arrow  Pandarus  had  aym'd  at  him, 
for  th'  moisture  unde'  his  shield's  wide  band  caus'd  him 
great  discomfort,  and  his  hand  was  aweary.  Then  Minerva 
touch'd  th'  yoake  of  the  steedes  and  said : 

"O  little  like  himself  e  is  the  sonne  Tydeus  hath  begotten ! 
Hee  in  very  truth  was  but  smal  of  stature,  but  a  warriour; 
and  though  I  would  not  suffer  him  at  all  times  to  fight,  nor 
to  rush  furiously  to  the  battaile,  even  when  he  went  on  an 
ambassage  to  Thebes,  he  still  retain'd  his  courageous  spirit, 
and  strove  with  numerous  Cadmea's,  and  easilie  conquer'd 
all,  so  powerfull  an  ally  was  I  unto  him.  But  tho.u  art 
farre  unlike  Tydeus,  and  unworthy  to  bee  call'd  the  sonne 
of  such  a  man.  For  tho'  I  am  constantlie  inciteing  thee 
against  th'  Trojans,  and  shielding  [the^]  from  harm,  eyther 
thou  dost  weary,  or  feare  doth  now  dishearten  thee." 

But   unto   her  valiant   Diomed   in   reply   thus   spake: 


278  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

"I  know  thee  well,  O  thou  daughter  of  ^gisrbearing  Jove, 
and  I  will  plainly  tell  thee,  nor  seeke  to  conceale  from 
thee,  why  I  have  left  the  fight.  Neyther  am  I  weery 
nor  is  my  soule  possest  with  feare.  Thou,  thy  own  selfe, 
in  sending  me  unto  the  battaile,  injoyn'd  on  me  to  fight 
only  against  Venus  and  wound  her  with  th'  pointed  spear, 
but  to  contend  with  no  other  immortall.  Therefore  have 
I  retyr'd  from  the  field,  and  have  drawne  away  the  othe' 
Greekes  also,  because  I  perceive  Mars  dispensing  now  the 
battaile." 

To  him  blue-ey'd  Minerva  said:  "Tydides,  deare  to  my 
soule,  neythe'  neede  thou  in  thy  heart  quaile  before  god 
Mars  or  any  other  of  th'  immortalls,  so  great  an  auxiliary 
am  I  unto  thee.  Then  come  now,  direct  th'  solid-hooved 
steeds  against  implacable  Mars,  and  engage  him  in  close 
combat,  nor  regard  this  phrensied  and  unnaturall  pest — 
this  weather-vane!  For  hee  lately  promis'd  Juno  and 
myself e  that  he  would  aide  th'  Trojans  no  more,  and  would 
assist  th'  Greekes.  But  now,  alas,  he  mixeth  with  th' 
Trojans  and  forgetteth  all  this."    . 

Thus  did  she  speake,  and  laying  hold  upon  his  com- 
panion, Sthenelus,  dragg'd  him  backeward.  Leaping 
quickly  downe,  he  yeelded  th'  place.  Minerva  straight- 
way, arous'd  to  fury,  mounted  the  chariot  and  seized  both 
goade  and  reines,  directing  Diomede  to  encounter  Mars, 
who  had  now  slaine  Periphas,  bravest  of  th'  ^tolians. 
Then  Pallas  put  on  the  helmet  of  Pluto  (which  caused 
her  to  bee  invisible)  that  impiteous  Mars  might  not  see  her. 

But  he,  espying  Diomedes,  left  fallen  Periphas  and 
went  against  him.  Leaning  farre  out  over  his  reins,  over 
th'  yoake  of  his  steeds  he  caste  his  brazen-headed  speare. 
Yet  Minerva  caught  it  as  it  sped  and  turn'd  it  aside.     As 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAIX  279 

Diomed,  however,  sent  forth  his  weapon,  shee  guided  its 
course  so  that  it  penetrated  the  lower  flank,  where  it  was 
covered  with  th'  girdle,  but  shee  withdrew  it  at  once. 
Then  god  Mars  roared  louder,  much  louder  then  any  nine 
or  ten  thousand  men  when  they  joyne  in  strife  of  the 
battaile,  that  the  Greekes  and  Trojans  hearing  th'  bellow- 
ing were  affrighted.  Then  as  a  haze  appeareth  when  a 
hot  winde  doth  blowe  for  a  long  season,  soe  Mars  ascending 
unto  heav'n  appeared  to  Diomedes.  Going  to  Olympus, 
and  seating  himselfe  by  his  father  Jove,  hee  shewed  his 
woundes  and  wiped  away  th'  immortall  bloud,  addressing 
words  to  Jove  that  were  swift  as  wing'd  arrowes,  com- 
plaining that  hee  in  no  wise  restrain'd  the  daughter  he  had 
begotten,  she  that  was  the  cause  of  continuall  strife 
'mongst  the  other  immortalls.  But  Jove  reprov'd  him 
sharply,  saying  that  he  was  most  hatefull  of  all  Olympian 
gods,  and  inconstant  above  all  the  others;  that  he  found 
discorde  and  warres  ever  most  gratefull,  and  possess'd  th' 
insufferable,  unbending  disposition  of  his  mother,  Juno. 
In  truth  hee  beleeved  that  had  Juno  not  led  him  on,  hee 
had  not  suffer'd  thus;  yet  owned  that  Mars'  paine  so 
griev'd  his  owne  heart  that  he  could  not  endure  it,  inasmuch 
as  Mars  was  his  sonne,  but  said  t'  him  that  had  he,  being 
so  destructive,  beene  the  sonne  of  other  immortalls,  long 
since  would  his  place  have  beene  lower  then  that  of  the 
sonnes  of  Uranus. 

Thus  saying,  Jove  straightway  commanded  Pseon  to 
heale  him,  which  hee  proceeded  to  doe,  applying  remedies, 
for  hee  was  not  mortall.  As  when  the  juices  of  the  figge- 
tree  stirr'd  into  milke  quicklie  cruddle  it,  the  remedies 
quickly  heal'd  th'  woundes  of  impiteous  Mars.  Hebe 
washed  him  and  decked  him  in  beauteous  robes.  Then, 
exulting  in  glory,  he  sat  downe  by  Satumian  Jove. 


380  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Whereupon  Juno  and  that  great  assista't  Minerva,  hav- 
ing stay'd  from  dreadful!  deeds  of  death,  Mars,  the  man- 
alajer,  retum'd  to  the  pallace  of  mighty  Jove. 


VI. 


And  now  th'  dread  battaile  of  Trojans  and  Greekes 
was  abandon' d  by  th'  gods,  and  victory  sway'd  most  clearly 
to  the  Greekes. 

Helenus  counsell'd  Hector  to  give  order  that  all  meet 
together  to  make  supplication  in  the  citadell  to  Minerva — 
i.  e.,  the  Trojan  dames  and  the  old  men  unable  t'  mixe 
with  th'  warriours — instructing  Hecuba,  mother  to  both, 
that  an  embroder'd  robe  be  presented  to  th'  goddess,  and 
twelve  yereling  heyfers  be  promist  in  sacrifice.  Hector 
therefore  leapt  downe  from  his  chariot,  and  brandishing 
his  speares,  went  throughout  the  army  inciting  th'  hosts, 
urging  them  into  the  thicke  of  the  conflicte,  avowing 
what  was  his  mission  to  th'  citty.  No  soone'  was  he  thus 
gone  to  Troy,  then  Tydides  and  Glaucus  met  face  to  face 
eager  to  fight,  but  first  Tydides,  inquiring,  ask'd  th'  name 
and  lineage  of  his  opposer:  thereupon  Glaucus  replied  hee 
was  well-descended,  and  in  giving  his  genealogie,  told  th' 
sad  tale  o'  Bellerophon,  sonne  of  Prcetus,  sent  into  farre- 
distant  lands  by  that  deluded  syre,  at  the  request  of  his 
false-hearted  wife — th'  young  man's  stepp-mother — who, 
failing  in  her  designe  of  seduction,  hated  him  as  much  as 
she  had  loved  him — untill  so  fayling.  Whereupon,  being 
sent  with  secret  writing  to  the  king  of  Lycia,  he  was  (th' 
space  of  nine  dales)  much  attended  and  honour'd  as  a  guest, 
and  Sonne  t'  Prcetus,  spouse  o'  th'  king's  daughte'.  Yet, 
upofn  seeing  th'  message  which  Bellerophon  had  given  him. 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  881 

the  subtile  soveraigne  of  the  Lycians  put  upon  him  many 
great  labours.  These,  however,  were  all  accomplish'd,  and 
whe'  it  became  known  that  Bellerophon  was  the  offspring 
of  a  god,  the  Lycian  soveraigne  gave  him  as  his  wife  one 
of  his  daughters;  and  by  her  he  became  the  sire  of  both 
sonnes  and  that  fayre  daughter,  Laodamia,  whom  Jove 
himselfe  secretly  loved.  Of  one  of  these  sonnes,  Glaucus 
was  th'  offspring. 

Then  Diomedes,  when  hee  heard  this,  well  remember'd 
this  sire  as  a  guest  in  his  father's  house,  and  spake  of  it. 
Both  doughty  warriours  then  leapt  downe  to  give  the  hand, 
thus  bespeaking  amitie.  And  Jove  depriving  Glaucus  of 
all  prudent  foresight,  hee  exchangM  armes  with  Diomed, 
giving  his  rich  golden  armour  for  brazen- — the  valewe  of 
an  hundred  oxen  for  the  valewe  of  nine. 

But  when  Hector  arrived  at  the  Seian  gates,  wives  and 
mothers  surrounded  him  to  ask  for  th'  welfare  of  th'  sonnes, 
brothers,  friends  and  husbands  in  th'  field.  He,  however, 
straightway  ordered  that  all  should  supplicate  th'  gods, 
so  many  evills  were  impending.  Then  he  hasten'd  to  the 
beautifull  pallace  of  Priam,  and  his  fond  mother  there  met 
him  and  hung  upon  his  hand,  begging  that  wine  might  be 
brought,  that  he  might  pour  upon  th'  earth  a  libation  unto 
Jove  and  th'  other  immortalls.  This  Hector  declin'd, 
saying  he  wisht  nought  that  would  enervate  him,  nor  did 
he  hold  it  meete  that  hee  come  with  gory  hands  to  offer 
vowes  to  th'  powerful  sonne  of  Saturn;  but  bade  Hecuba, 
from  th'  rare  stores  they  possest,  select  the  most  beautifull 
robe  and  bear  it  to  Minerva's  temple,  vowing  to  her  twelve 
yeerelings  that  never  felt  the  goade,  if  she  mil  avert  from 
sacred  Illium  Tydides,  that  fierce  warriour,  valiant  author 
of  terror. 


282  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OP  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Whilst  Hecuba  was  thus  engag'd  (in  companie  with 
other  dames  of  distinction)  Hector  pass'd  on  to  the 
beauteous  halls,  where  Alexander  built  for  himself  lofty 
and  splendid  apartments,  close  by  those  of  Hector  and 
Priam,  There  hee  found  Paris  pollishing  brightly  the 
golden  armour  and  fitting  th'  crooked  bowe.  Sharpely  he 
reproached  him  for  his  infatuation,  saying  also  that  his 
rage  was  ill  suited  to  th'  time.  Threat  to  the  safety  of 
Ulium  mennaced  on  everie  hand,  and  he  himselfe  would 
reprove  any  other  warriour  that  was'  thus  remisse  in  th^ 
hateful!  battaile.  But  Paris  disclaimed  all  this,  and  said 
it  was  because  of  griefe,  chiefely,  rather  then  rage  or 
indignation,  that  he  was  thus  absent  from  the  fight;  but 
that  his  wife,  with  kinde  words,  had  urg'd  him  to  go  forth^ 
and  he  also  thought  it  would  be  better. 

But  Hector  made  no  answer.  Helen  spake  soothingly 
to  him,  regretting  in  her  soule  that  a  tempest,  at  the  hour 
o'  her  comeing  into  the  world,  had  not  carried  her  off  to 
some  mountayne  top,  or  to  the  sea  to  be  a  prey  to  the 
billowes.  Then  she  begg'd  Hector  to  be  seated,  but  hee 
would  not  be  perswaded  to  remaine,  although  hee  was  sensi- 
ble of  her  courtesie,  urging  but  one  thing:  that  Paris  come 
at  once  unto  the  battaile. 

Then  he  went  to  his  dwelling  that  he  might  look  upon 
his  wife,  the  faire  Andromache,  and  his  infant  sonne,  since 
the  gods  had  perchance  decreed  his  fall  at  that  battaile. 
His  wife  he  did  not  find,  for  she  had  gone  forth  unto  the 
walls.  Thither  Hector  follow'd,  and  Andromache  espying 
him  ran  out  to  meete  him,  with  her  a  maid  bearing  th* 
child.  Andromache  took  hold  on  Hector,  saying  it  was 
strange  he  should  go  out  so  fearlesslie  to  th'  warre  mthout 
pitty  for  her  or  his  child,  foretelling  that  valour  would 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  288 

destroy  him,  and  bemoaning  her  fate.  Hector  replied,  it 
were  shame  to  all  the  Trojans  should  he  not  defend  th' 
citty;  but  spake  eloquentlie,  with  tender  paine  and  sorrow, 
of  Andromache's  possible  captivitie  and  servitude.  Then 
he  stretcht  forth  his  arms  for  his  child,  but  th'  infant, 
affrighted  at  th'  nodding  plumes,  (also  because  of  all  that 
glitt'ring  brasse)  hid  his  face  in  th'  bosom  of  his  nurse. 
Hector,  smiling,  took  off  his  helmet  and  plac'd  it  upon  the 
ground;  then  he  fondled  his  little  sonne,  whilst  he  praied 
aloud  that  he  might  become  a  brave  souldier,  even  braver 
then  he,  his  valiant  sire,  a  joy  to  his  mother. 

Then  he  placed  the  boy  tenderly  in  his  wife's  arms. 
She  tearfully  smil'd,  and  the  babe  hid  his  face  in  her 
bosome.  Soothing  words  Hector  then  d6th  speake,  and 
doth  pray  her  to  beleeve  none  can  send  him  to  th'  shades 
of  death  untill  his  date  be  out;  and  not  a  man  that  is  borne 
can  escape  fate,  bee  he  brave  or  cowardlie.  Her  he  bade 
return  to  the  care  of  th'  household,  whilst  hee  went  forth 
again  to  battaile. 

VII. 

Neythe'  did  Alexander  staye  behind,  but  joyn'd  his 
brother  as  hee  pass'd  forth,  and  together  they  went  to  the 
field  to  hew  down  the  Greeks.  Minerva,  seeing  them 
destroying  manie,  descended  Olympus  hastily  to  staie  them; 
but  Apollo,  knowing  her  mission,  met  her  and  proposed 
anothe'  course  of  action.  This  was  nothing  less  then  that 
Hector  might  challenge  the  bravest  of  the  Greekes  to 
single  .combat. 

This  beeing  agreed  upon  it  was  made  knowne  to  Hector, 
who  straightway  sent  a  roisting  challenge  'mongst  th'  wait- 
ing Greekes.     By  the  tearms  of  this  challenge,  th'  armour 


384  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

of  the  conquer'd  should  go  to  the  victor,  but  the  bodie 
should  be  sent  to  his  owne  people.  The  Greekes  were  all 
mute  with  dread,  yet  asham'd  to  refuse. 

Then  Menelaus  addrest  them,  calling  them  but  dames 
without  courage,  and  said  he  would  accept  th'  invitation 
himselfe.  This  would  have  beene  sure  death,  and  Atrides 
knew  it;  therefore  hee,  seizing  th'  hand  of  his  brother, 
dissuading  with  eloquence,  prevail'd  upon  him  to  give  over. 

Then  Nestor  rose  and,  inciting  thei'  courage,  told  of  his 
brave  actions  in  his  youth,  and  longed  to  have  once  more 
the  mighty  strength  of  former  yeeres. 

Nine  warriours  rose  in  answer  to  his  appeale. 
Agamemnon  much  the  first  rose  up,  then  Diomed  and  the 
two  Ajaces,  next  Idomeneus,  then  his  armour-bearer, 
Meriones,  after  them  Eurypylus,  Thoas  and  divine  Ulysses. 
All  these  wish'd  to  goe  out  to  fight  Hector,  but  the  Gerenian 
knight,  Nestor,  bade  them  decide  by  lot  who  should  accept 
his  challenge.  Then  each  mark'd  his  owne  lot  and  cast 
it  into  th'  helmet  of  Atrides,  the  king.  Then  they  pray'd 
aloud  that  Ajax,  or  Tydides  might  get  the  lot,  or  th' 
Mycenaean  king  himselfe.  The  Gerenian  knight  shooke 
the  helmet  and  the  lot  of  Ajax  leapt  out.  A  herald  then 
let  each  chiefe  see  th'  lot  as  he  pass'd  from  right  to  left. 
But  all  disclaim'd  it  until  he  came  to  Ajax,  who,  stretching 
forth  his  hand  for  it,  saw  that  it  was  th'  one  that  he  had 
marked,  and,  in  soule  rejoycing,  cast  it  upon  the  ground, 
saying  to  all  that  the  lot  was  his,  and  bidding  them  silently 
lift  up  prayers  lest  the  Trojans  heare,  or  even  aloud  for 
nothing  daunted  him,  nor  did  hee  lacke  skill  and  use. 
.  Then  they  supplicated  Jove,  praying  that  Ajax  might 
bear  away  the  victory,  but  if  he  lov'd  Hector  with  an  equall 
love,  give  an  equall  might  and  glory  to  both.     When  Ajax, 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  ?85 

therefore,  had  put  on  his  armour,  he  rusht  forward,  grimly 
smiling.  The  Greekes  rejoyc'd  at  the  sight,  but  the  Trojan 
warriours  trembled,  and  even  Hector's  soule  thrill'd  and 
panted,  since  having  given  challenge  it  was  impossible  to 
retract.  Then  mighty  Ajax  bade  Hector  note  many  heroes 
besides  Achilles  amongst  the  Greekes,  and  begg'd  him  to 
beginne  the  strife  and  battaile. 

Hector  in  turne  replied  he  knew  all  shiftes  and  passes, 
but  he  would  scome  any  but  open  warf^e.  Then  he  hurls 
the  long  beam  so  forcibly  that  it  pierces  th'  outer  brasse  of 
that  seven-fold  oxhide  shield  and  penetrates  sixe  layers,  but 
stays  in  the  sevent  fast  fixt  Now  Ajax  hurls  a  mightie 
speare,  and  it  goeth  through  his  equal  shield,  nor  staies 
untill  it  through  his  curat  glides  and  cuts  in  tway  his 
tunicke  near  the  flank,  but  bending  or  turning  hee  escapes 
blacke  death.  Drawing  forth  th'  speares,  like  ravening 
lions  or  boars,  they  againe  joyn'd  battaile.  The  point  of 
Hector's  was  bent  on  Ajax'  shield,  but  Ajax'  weapon 
repelled  and  wounded  Hector.  Yet  did  he  not  cease  from 
the  combat,  but,  seizing  a  great  stone  lying  in  the  plain, 
htirl'd  it  forth,  strook  the  shield  of  Ajax  upo'  the  bosse  so 
that  it  rang  loudly.  He  in  tume  snatcht  up  a  heavier  stone, 
and  dispatcht  it  with  such  force  it  broke  through  Hector's 
shield  and  wounded  him  in  the  knee,  so  that  he  fell  supine. 
But  Apollo  quickly  rered  him.  And  now,  in  a  close  hand 
to  hand  combat  with  the  sword,  both  would  have  had 
deadlie  wounds  had  not  the  message  come  to  them  to  cease. 
The  heralds,  Talthybius  and  Idseus,  were  sent  from  eyther 
side,  bidding  th'  battaile  cease  in  obedience  to  approaching 
Night.  Ajax,  however,  must  hear  it  utter'd  by  him  whom 
he  fought  ere  he  yeelded.  Hector  therefore  pronounc'd 
similar  words,  and,  exchanging  gifts,  they  separated. 


386  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Then  councils  were  held  among  both  Trojans  and 
Greekes,  Nestor  avis'd  th'  Greekes  to  seeke  forth  their 
dead;  to  build  one  common  pile,  before  which  a  trench 
should  bee  dug,  (and  beside  it  gates  should  bee  erected  for 
the  chariots  to  pass  through)    a  bulwark  to  their  camp. 

Meanwhile  Antenor  was  exhorting  th'  assembled 
Trojans  that  they  should  let  Helen  go;  but  Paris  refused 
with  warmth,  whylst  proposing  he  should  restore  th'  treas- 
ures, and  add  something  thereto.  Priam  likewise 
harangued  them,  saying  it  were  well  they  first  goe  to  their 
repast,  mindfull  ever  of  the  watch,  and  in  the  morning 
send  a  herald  to  the  Greekes  to  lay  before  them  proposalls 
of  a  truce  (that  those  that  were  slaine  might  be  bum'd)  at 
th'  time  he  made  them  th'  offer  of  Paris,  which  he  bade  the 
herald  say  must  be  accepted,  or  they  would  fight  again  till 
fate  divide  them  or  give  th'  victory  to  one  or  the  other. 

But  when  Idaeus  bore  th'  word  to  the  Greeks,  they 
receyv'd  it  mutely.  But  brav  Diomed  bade  them  receyve 
neither  Helen  nor  the  treasures,  for  even  a  babe  could  see 
that  an  evill  fate  impended  over  th'  Trojans;  and  all  th' 
Greekes  shouted  in  approval.  Whereupon  Agamemnon 
bade  the  herald  heare  this  expression  of  sentiment  that 
accorded  fully  with  his  owne.  Yet  as  co'cern'd  the  dead, 
they  bore  them  no  grudge,  therefore  might  they  performe 
hastily  their  obsequies  with  fire,  but  Jove  must  be  a  wit- 
nesse  to  the  treaties.  Then  he  raised  up  his  scepter  to 
the  gods,  and  both  hastily  brought  forth  their  dead  and 
built  their  pyles. 

The  Greekes  built  a  wall  and  strong  towers,  and  put 
therein  gates  thorow  which  the  chariots  might  passe;  and 
without  it,  dug  a  deep  ditch  wherein  postes,  well  sharpen'd, 
were  set.     Th'  gods,  observing  th'  defence,  admir'd  it;    but 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  287 

Neptune  made  a  plaint  that  the  wall  he  and  Apollo  had 
built  round  the  citty  of  Troy  for  Laomedon  would  be 
eclips'd.  Jove  reprov'd  th'  Earth-shaker,  saying  he  could 
easily  overturne  th'  wall,  obliterate  everie  trace  of  it  with 
sand,  and  th'  place  thereof  know  it  no  more. 

At  set  of  sun  the  wall  was  compleated,  and  they  took 
repast.  Then  shippes  from  Lemnos  bearing  wine  from 
Euneiis,  the  sonne  o'  Jason,  came.  A  thousand  measures 
were  a  present  fro'  Euneiis  to  Atreus'  sonns,  but,  for  the 
rest,  th'  Greekes  gave  in  exchange  large  portions  of  brasse, 
iron,  skins,  and  even  oxen  and  slaves,  and '  they  feasted 
bounteously  all  the  night.  In  Troy  also  they  made  a  great 
feast,  but  Jove,  meantime,  with  loud  thunderings,  was 
devising  evills  that  should  fall  on  Greekes  and  Trojans 
alike;  and  pale  feare  tooke  hold  upon  all,  and  they  dar'd 
not  drinke  till  they  pour'd  out  a  hbation  to  Saturn's 
supreme  sonne,  but  afterwards  lay  downe  and  enjoy'd  the 
boon  of  sleepe. 

VIII. 

Then  Jove,  having  summon'd  the  Olympian  gods  to  an 
assembly  upon  the  very  summit  of  th'  highest  mount,  for- 
bade them  to  take  any  further  part  in  th'  conflicte  'twixt 
the  Greekes  and  Trojans.  At  Mount  Ida,  consulting  the 
scales  of  Destiny,  he  directs  his  forked-lightnings  against 
the  Greekes.  ISTestor  now,  in  th'  chariot  of  Diomed  doth 
goe  out  agaynst  Hector,  whose  mighty  charioteer  Diomed 
slays;  then  Jove,  thund'ring,  tum'd  backe  the  Greekes,  and 
they  sought  refuge  within  their  bulwarks.  And  -  then 
indeed  would  Hector  have  press'd  with  fire  to  the  very 
shippes,  had  not  venerable  Juno  put  it  into  th'  heart  and 
mind  of  Agamemnon  (seeing  this  returne  of  his  hosts)  to 


288  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

urge,  as  vehemently  as  lie  was  able,  a  charge  with  all'  their 
forces.  Talcing  position  upo'  Ulysses'  vessell,  so  that  his 
speech  might  bee  heard  as  farre  as  th'  tent  of  Telamonian 
Ajax  on  th'  one  side,  and  to  that  of  Achilles  on  the  other, 
Atrides  incited  them  forth  thro'  a  dread  of  shame  should 
they  bee  driven  before  Hector  alone,  praying  that  they 
might  escape  (at  least)  with  their  lives.  And  Jove  sent 
his  eagle  with  a  fawne  in  th'  talons  as  they  were  offering 
sacrifice,  and  the  fawn  is  caste  downe  to  earth  near  the 
beautifuU  altar.  When  they  saw  th'  signe  from  Jove,  they 
rusht  forth  to  battaile,  bnt  none  weilt  before  Diomed. 
After  him  came  th'  two  sonnes  of  Atreus;  next  the  two 
Ajaces,  clad  in  impiteous  courage,  then  Idomeneus,  and  his 
armour-bearer,  Meriones,  follow'd  by  Eurypylus;  and  the 
ninth  was  Teucer. 

Close  upon  Telamonian  Ajax  he  prest, — as  child  to  its 
mother, — who  shelter'd  him  behi'd  that  mighty  shield. 
And  Teucer  peer'd  forth,  as  Ajax  mov'd  the  shield  unto 
one  side,  and  shooting  his  arrows  swiftly,  slew  many  of 
the  Trojans. 

Agamemnon  rejoyc'd  seeing  him,  and  stood  by  him  to 
incite  him,  making  promise  of  rich  reward  when  they 
should  have  enter'd  the  captur'd  citty.  But  Teucer  bade 
the  general  observe  that  hee  needed  no  exhortation.  In 
fine,  he  would  himselfe  doe  all  that  was  within  his  power, 
but  as  yet  he  could  not  hit  the  mighty  chiefe  at  whom 
he  aym'd.  Againe  and  againe  he  levell'd  an  arrow  at 
valiant  Hector,  but  Apollo  guarded  the  hero  from  all 
haxme. 

Teucer,  however,  slew  Hector's  mighty  charioteer. 
This  80  enrag'd  the  great  Trojan  that  he  seiz'd  an  heavy 
stone  and  strooke  the  youth,  so  that  he  fell  upon  his  knees. 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  289 

Then  Ajax  held  th'  shield  over  him  why  1st  two  strong 
companions  bore  the  suffering  young  warriour  to  one  side, 
groaning  heavily.  Then  Jove  rous'd  the  mightie  Trojans 
who  drove  backe  th'  Greekes  to  their  defenses;  and  Hector 
in  the  van  lash'd  his  fierie  steeds  in  pursuite,  and  slew  great 
numbers  of  those  that  were  in  the  hindmost  of  th'  rankes. 
Juno,  seeing  their  flight,  prevayled  upon  Minerva  (in 
despight  of  Jove,  his  decree)  to  go  out  with  her  to  the 
succor  of  the  Greekes.  At  this,  Jove  was  angry  with 
Pallas  more  then  with  Juno,  who,  he  said,  sought  ever  a 
meane  to  thwart  the  plans  and  purposes  hee  wished  to 
carry  out.  But  he  now  prevented  their  interference,  and 
during  the  whole  of  the  night  Hector  prevented  surprises 
through  wise  prevision.  Youths  and  aged  men  were  given 
order  keep  watch  in  the  towers,  the  matrons  to  have 
mighty  fires  in  their  halls,  and  a  strong  guard  set  to  watch 
the  secret  entrances  to  the  town;  but  meantime  a  thousand 
fires  blazed  around  the  citty,  and  fifty  men  at  each  fire  sat 
at  watch. 

IX. 

Then  old  Nestor,  wiselie  counselling,  bade  Agamemnon 
send  Ulysses  with  Phoenix  and  Ajax  to  the  tent  of  the  hero 
Achilles,  if  by  any  meanes  they  could  prevayle  on  him  to 
come  to  their  ayde,  but  'twas  of  no  availe. 


Next  Diomedes  and  subtile  Ulysses  slyly  enter  the 
Trojan  campe  at  night,  having  first  entrapt  and  slaine 
Dolon,  who  had  set  out  as  a  spye  to  the  Grecian  campe. 
From  him  they  obtain'd  the  desir'd  informatio'  that  inabled 
them  to  seeke  out  the  tent  of  that  Thracian  king  Rhesus, 


390  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

and  having  slayne  him  (with  many  others)  Ulysses  loosed 
th'  solide  hoov'd  warlike  steeds,  and,  lashing  them  with  the 
bowe,  drove  them  away  to  the  Greekes. 


XI. 

Then  they  resum'd  th'  conflicte.  Atrides  fought  most 
furiously,  but  Paris  woundeth  Diomed,  and  Socus  doth 
injure  Ulysses.  No  sooner  do  Ajax  and  Menelaus  observe 
this,  then  they  go  to  their  ayde.  Patroclus  now  seeketh 
ITestor  at  his  tent,  and  th'  sire  exhorteth  him  to  goe  to 
the  field  in'  the  armour  of  Achilles. 


XII. 

Ere  long  the  Trojans  assail  the  mighty  gates  and  presse 
toward  the  shippes,  in  disregard  of  Polydamas,  who  inter- 
preted the  omens  as  most  unpropitious. 


XIII. 

Then  Neptune  engages  on  the  Greecian  side,  and  the 
battaile  proceeds  hotly.  Deiphobus  is  repuls'd  by  Men- 
ones.  Teucer  slays  Imbrius,  while  mighty  Hector,  smiting 
Amphimacus,  takes  away  his  life,  in  turne. 

Neptune  assuming  a  likenesse  to  Thoas,  exhorteth 
Idome'eus,  who  proceedeth  to  the  battaile  with  Meriones. 
Idomeneus  slays  Othryoneus  and  then  Asius.  Seeing  this, 
Deiphobus,  ayming  his  speare  at  Idomeneus,  slayeth  him 
not;  however  his  speare  falleth  not  idlie  to  ground,  for 
Hypsenor  is  slayne.  Then  Idomeneus  doth  subdue 
Alcathoiis,  over  whose  body  a  sharp  contest  doth  take  place. 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  291 


XIV. 


Agamemnon  and  other  wounded  chiefes  visiting  the 
battle  now,  the  Earth-shaker,  in  the  likeness  of  an  aged  man, 
taking  holde  on  the  hand  of  Agamemnon,  spake  winged 
words  and  greatly  incited  the  courage  of  the  souldiers. 
With  a  bellowing  roar,  louder  then  anie  ten  thousand  men, 
hee  hasted  on. 

Juno  seing  him  was  delighted,  and  prepared  at  once  to 
visit  Jove  on  faire  Ida.  Bathing  and  perfuming  her- 
selfe  soe  sweetlie  that  the  odor  reached  both  earth  and  sky, 
she  array'd  herselfe  in  a  beautifull  embroder'd  robe  with 
golde  claspes  and  a  rich  zone,  from  which  an  hundred 
fringes  depended,  and,  having  smooth'd  her  gleaming  haire 
and  disposed  it  well,  she  put  on  her  trebble  Jewell' d  eare- 
rings,  and,  over  all,  a  beautifull  shining  veyle.  Going 
forth  from  her  chamber  and  finding  Venus,  she  obtain'd 
from  her  the  cestus,  which  she  wore  seducing  men  or  gods, 
as  no  allurement  was  lacking.  In  it  were  desire,  love- 
converse,  seductive  speech — able  to  steale  away  the  minde 
even  of  th'  very  prudent. 

Then,  descending  Olympus,  passing  with  all  swiftnesse 
ore  mountain  and  sea,  she  came  at  length  to  farre-distant 
Lemnos  and  sought  out  Sleepe,  the  brother  of  Death.  She 
tooke  fast  hold  upon  his  hand  and  begg'd  that  he  would 
now  close  in  sleepe  the  eies  of  Jove,  promising  a  golden 
throne  and  footstoole  if  he  grant  her  wish.  But  hee 
declin'd,  least  Jove  destroy  him  in  his  anger.  Yet,  when 
Juno  promis'd  him  the  youngest  of  the  Graces  to  wed — 
Pasithea — hee  could  no  longer  Withstand  her.  However, 
he  made  her  sweare  by  the  water  of  Styx,  with  one  hand 
upon  the  earth  and  the  o-ther  upon  the  sea,  calling  the 


292  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Titans  to  witnesse  her  oath,  that  she  would  surely  give  him 
one  of  the  younger  Graces — Pasithea,  his  hart's  desire. 
Hast'ning  to  many-rill'd  Ida,  Juno  placed  her  person  con- 
spicuously in  Jove's  sight,  but  Sleepe  conceal'd  himselfe. 
Juno,  faining  to  Jove  (as  she  had  to  Yenus),  that  she 
sought  to  unite  Oceanus  and  Tethys,  inflam'd  his  desire  to 
keepe  her  near  him,  avowing,  indeed,  that  none  (be  she 
goddesse  or  woman)  had  awaken'd  so  much  love  in  his 
bosom,  not  even  herself e  at  any  former  time,  he  pleaded; 
she  yeelded  unto  the  embrace  of  Saturn's  lordly  sonne, 
and  hee  shed  a  golden  cloud  round  them,  hiding  them  from 
sight.  Lucid  drops  were  distill'd  from  the  cloud,  and  the 
divine  earth  produced  hyacinth,  lotus,  sweet  with  dewe, 
and  crocus,  thus  forming  a  flow'rie  couch,  where  the  sire 
quietly  slumber'd  with  his  spouse  in  his  armes,  subdued 
by  Sleepe  and  love.  But  Sleepe  went  in  all  swift  haste  to 
the  Greeks,  where  he  found  the  powerfull  Earth-shaker, 
and  led  him  on  to  incite  the  Greekes. 

XV. 

Jove  waked  to  see  th'  Trojans  driven  before  them  and 
was  exceedingly  angry.  Calling  Iris  he  sent  her  forth 
to  induce  mighty  Neptune  to  leave  the  field,  and  requested 
divine  Apollo  that  he  would  at  once  heale  Hector. 

Armed  with  the  ^gis,  Apollo  doth  put  the  Greekes  com- 
pleatly  to  rout  and  drive  them  to  their  shippes.  These  all 
th'  Trojan  heroes  thought  to  bum.  Ajax  (Telamon)  kept 
the  fire  backe  and  himselfe  slew  twelve  of  the  Trojan 
warriours. 

*  XVI. 

Then  valiant  Patroclus  obtain'd  permission  of  Achilles 
to  don  that  hero's  armour  and  lead  forth  the  Myrmidons 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  293 

to  th'  succour  of  the  Greekes,  upon  the  condition  that  he 
should  take  heede  of  all  danger  and  return  as  soone  as 
th'  Trojans  were  driven  backe.  This  he  fail'd  to  do,  but 
persew'd  the  fleeing  foe  to  th'  walls  of  Troy,  eager  to 
slay  Hector.  Him,  indeed,  Apollo  protected,  hut  Sarpedon 
was  slaine,  and  also  Hector's  charioteer,  Cebriones.  He  is 
repelled  by  Apollo,  wounded  by  Euphorbus,  and  put  to 
death  by  Hector,  but  not  before  he  declares  th'  fate  of 
Hector.  The  latter  mounteth  Achilles'  chariot,  and  fol- 
loweth  aft€r  Automedon  to  th'  shippes  of  the  Greekes. 

XVII. 

Menelaus  then  slayeth  Euphorbus,  who  was  attempting 
to  remove  the  armour  of  Patroclus.  As  Atrides  doth  stand 
waighinc-  in  his  minde  what  he  should  doe,  Hector's 
approach  frights  Menelaus  so  that  he  doth  goe  in  search  of 
Ajax.  Then  Hector  doth  take  off  the  beautiful  armes,  but 
as  he  is  dragging  the  body  away  to  sever  the  head  from 
the  trunke,  he  seeth  Ajax  advancing,  and  in  all  haste 
mounteth  his  charet,  giving  the  armour  to  some  of  th' 
Trojans  to  carry  to  Troy. 

These  two,  Ajax  and  the  sonne  of  Atreus,  guarded  the 
fallen  hero.  As  a  lionesse,  keeping  watch  ore  her  whelps 
as  the  huntsmen  draw  nigh,  doth  goe  round  about  the  den, 
soe  Ajax,  lowering  th'  shaggy  browes,  glaring  savagely, 
walked  round  him,  th'  whiles  Menelaus  stood  beside  him. 
Then  Glaucus  reprov'd  Hector  in  so  sharpe  a  manner  that 
the  great  hero's  heart  rag'd,  and  he,  returning,  beginneth 
the  conflict  anew  over  th'  body  of  Patroclus,  while  Autome- 
don doth  furiously  defend  the  chariot  of  Achilles.  The 
Greekes  are  beaten  backe  at  length,  and  e'vn  heroicke  Ajax 
doth  shrinke  backe,  yet  Meriones  and  brave  >  Menelaus  bear 
away  the  body  of  Patroclus. 


294  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

XVIII. 

Achilles  gave  waye  to  the  most  violent  griefe,  throw- 
ing himselfe  on  the  ground,  weeping  and  soe  sorelie  lament- 
ing that  his  agony  touched  Thetis'  heart;  and  she  came  out 
of  the  deepe  to  give  him  comfort,  and  with  her  came  manie 
sea-nymphs. .  She  promises  him  also  she  will  procure  forth- 
with most  beautifull  armor,  and  for  this  purpose  doth  go 
to  Vulcan  and  beg  that  hee  will  prepare  it  at  once. 
Vulcan,  consenting,  maketh  first  a  five-fold  shield,  with  a 
belt  of  silver. 

On  it  were  the  earth,  the  heavens,  the  sea,  th'  unwearied 
sunne,  the  moone,  and  the  constellations  which  crowne  the 
heavens — the  Pleiades,  the  Hyades,  the  strength  of  Orion, 
with  the  Beare  (that  is  likewise  denominated  Wain)  and 
is  the  only  constellation  never  wet  in  wave  of  the  sea. 

On  it  were  two  faire  citties:  in  one  marriage  feasts, 
dancing,  sweete  songs,  musik  and  gladnesse;  round  the 
other  two  armies  sat  at  watch,  at  one  and  other  side,  besi^- 
ing  it. 

There  was  a  fallow  field,  and  men  with  their  ploughs; 
and  a  waving  cornfield,  where  reapers  were  thrusting  in 
their  sharp  reaping-hookes. 

On  it  was  a  sunny  vineyard  with  golden  clusters  of 
grapes,  where  faire  maidens,  and  joyous,  skiping  youths 
gather' d  the  grapes,  or  danced  to  the  musicke  of  the  harpe. 

On  it  was  a  heard  of  oxen  driv'n  forth  to  th'  field,  with 
lions  seizing  the  leader  of  the  heard  before  the  heards- 
man's  eies. 

There  was  also  upon  th'  shield  a  dance,  such  as  Daedalus 
devis'd  for  Ariadne,  where  youths  and  maides  mingled  in 
a  gracefull  motion  holding  each  the  wrist  of  the  other. 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  295 

And  near  the  outmost  edge  he  plac'd  that  mighty  rivw, 
Oceanus. 

Then  he  made  a  corselet  brighter  then  the  sunne;  also 
a  well-fitted  helmet  with  golden  crest;  and  greaves  of  the 
tinne  which  may  bee  well  hammer'd. 

When  all  was  finished,  he  plact  the  whole  at  Thetis' 
feet,  who,  as  a  hawke  doth  sweep  downe  from  the  sky, 
darted  adowne  from  snowy  Olympus  bearing  th'  armour  to 
her  Sonne. 

XIX. 

Then  all  the  rest  of  his  troopes,  dazled  at  sight  thereof, 
shrank  backe,  affrighted.  Achilles,  on  the  contrarie, 
rejoyced  in  soule.  Shouting  he  went  along  the  sh»re,  and 
straightway  the  wounded  chieftaines — Tydeus'  sonne,  with 
Ulysses  and  Atrides — gather  to  an  assembly,  at  which 
Atrides  and  Achilles  arcreconcil'd,  and  the  latter  hasteth 
forth  to  take  vengeance  for  his  friend,  his  death,  in  despight 
of  Xanthus'  prediction  regarding  his  fate. 

XX. 

Jove  doth  permit  the  gods  againe  to  ingage  in  the  con- 
flict, and  they  range  themselves  on  one  or  other  side.  Then 
had  Trojan  ^neas,  who  engaged  Achilles,  fallen  at  the 
hand  of  this  hero  save  for  th'  watchfuUnes  of  [N^eptune. 
Hector  also  attacks  him,  in  order  that  he  may  avenge  his 
brother  Polydoru'. 

XXI. 

Him  Apollo  reseueth,  but  many  are  slaine  by  th' 
fierce  Greeke,  who  doth  compell  one  part  of  the  Tro- 
jan armie  to  withdraw  towards  Troy,  and  doth  force 
a    second    part     into    the    Xanthus.     Here,    in  steed    of 


286  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

putting  all  to  death,  he  saveth  twelve  youths  to  offer  as 
a  sacrifice  on  the  funerall  pyle  of  his  friend.  Hee  slayeth, 
savagely,  Lycaon,  also  Asteropseus,  whilst  loudly  deriding 
the  rive'  god  as  unable  to  defend  his  friends.  This  doth 
so  enrage  the  River  that  he  riseth  up,  and,  menacing  dread- 
fuly,  doth  attempt  to  overwhelme  Achilles;  but  mighty 
Vulcan  protecteth  him  and  wardeth  off  the  danger. 

The  gods  standing  by  engage  in  single  combat,  greatly 
delighting  Jove.  First  Mars  smote  warlike  Minerva  with 
his  speare,  hitting  the  yEgis.  Not  even  Jove's  thunder-bolt 
may  subdue  this,  however,  and  soone  Minerva  prostrated 
him  with  a  monstrous  stone.  Falling,  he  cover'd  seven 
ackers,  and  he  made  a  horrible  crash.  Then  Minerva,  exult- 
ing, taunted  him  as  he  lay  prone;  yet  Venus,  pitying  him, 
led  him  away,  but  Avith  difiiculty  he  collected  his  spirits. 
White-arm'd  Juno  seeing  them,  incited  Pallas  to  pursue 
them.  She  therefore  hasted  after  them  and  overthrowi'g 
them,  spake  reproachfull  words,  wishing  that  all  Trojan 
allies  were  such  as  they,  since  Troy  then  might  easily  be 
overcome.  Juno  smil'd  at  these  words,  but  the  Earth- 
shaker  spake  to  Apollo,  reminding  him  of  their  unrequited 
labour  for  the  Trojans  a  long  time  before,  and  asking  if 
for  this  hee  is  a  friend  and  ally  of  that  treaty-breaking 
people.  However,  he  thought  it  not  meet  that  they  longe' 
hold  aloofe  from  combat,  since  all  th'  gods  were  ingag'd 
there  in  an  unpremeditated  strife.  Apollo  answer'd,  that 
it  was  unwise  for  the  immortalls  to  contend  on  the  part  of 
creatures  of  mortall  frame. 

At  this  th'  Farre-darter  withdrew;  but  when  Diana — 
his-rustick  sister — seeing  him,  rebuk'd  him,  taunting  him 
as  th'  bearer  of  an  idle  bowe,  he  did  answer  not  a  word. 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  297 

At  this  the  spouse  of  Jove,  taking  up  the  word,  hurriedly 
addrest  her  in  great  fury,  ending  by  plucking  Diana's  bowe 
from  her  shoulders  and  beating  her  (smiling  meanwhile), 
smiting  her  about  the  eares.  As  a  dove  affrighted  flieth 
from  a  hawke,  so  tim'rous  Diana  weeping  fled,  without 
staying  to  gather  up  her  dusty  arrows. 

Then  Mercury,  the  messenger  of  Jove,  addrest  Latona, 
saying  he  would  not  contend  with  a  spouse  of  cloud-com- 
peling  Sonne  of  lordly  Saturn,  because  she  would  surelie 
boast  amongst  the  immortalls  of  victory.  Thereupon 
Latona  took  up  the  bow,  gather'd  up  the  scatt'red  arrows, 
and  follow'd  Diana  to  Olympus,  where  she  had  gone  to 
make  complaint  to  Jove.  Latona  found  her  belov'd  child 
seated  close  beside  Jove,  who  drew  her  nearer  smilingly 
while  he  sooth'd  and  comforted  her,  asking  who  had  soe 
distress'd  her,  but  hearing  that  it  was  Juno,  said  not  a 
word. 

Apollo  then  repaired  to  sacred  Illium,  for  the  walls  were 
to  him  a  care,  but  all  other  gods  ascended  to  Olympus, 

Then  Achilles  pursued  the  Trojans  with  great  slaughter; 
and  Priam,  observing  him  from  one  of  Troies  high  towers, 
descended  in  all  hast  to  give  orders  to  throw  wide  the  gates 
to  let  the  flying  Trojans  en}:er,  but  bade  them  haste  to 
close  them  when  the  troopes  had  come  in,  lest  Achilles, 
following  upon  their  heels,  enter  with  them. 

Cover'd  with  dust,  thirstie,  almost  breathlesse,  they 
enter'd.  Then  had  not  Apollo  mov'd  Agenor,  the  sonne  of 
Antenor,  to  go  against  Achilles,  the  citty  had  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  the  sonnes  of  the  Greekes.  Guarding  his 
person  with  his  mightie  shield,  he  caste  his  speare,  smiting 
the  greave  upon  one  shin;  but,  not  disabled,  Achilles  pur- 
sued Agenor  so  hotly  that  Apollo  must  needs  shelter  him 
with  a  mist,  and  remove  him  from  danger.     Then  likening 


298  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OP  FRANCIS  BACON. 

himselfe  to  Agenor,  he  beguiled  AcMlles  to  foUowe,  with 
the  hope  of  overpowering  one  soe  mighty,  (not  discerning 
that  a  god  led  him  on)  turning  his  steps  ever  to'ard  Eiver 
Scamander. 

XXII. 

Meanwhiles,  Hector  remain' d  without  the  walls,  eager  to 
combat  with  Achilles.  Priam,  seeing  the  latter  advance 
shining  like  Orion's  dog,  that  brilliant  starre  of  autumn, 
(bright  indeed,  but  most  balefull,  for  the  violent  heat  that 
commeth  thereafter)  addresseth  his  sonne,  stretching  forth 
his  feeble  hands  with  piteous  action,  and  tearing  his  hoarie 
haire.  Then  Hecuba  laid  bare  her  brest  that  was  a  source 
of  food  and  rest  in  his  infancy.  But  all  availeth  not 
a  whit. 

Like  a  huge  serpent  that,  fill'd  with  rage,  awaiteth  th' 
coming  of  a  man,  coy  ling  itself  e  round  and  round,  so 
doughty  Hector,  filled  with  inexhaustible  courage,  leaning 
that  waightie  shield  against  the  projecting  wall  of  th'  tower, 
mused  in  his  soiile  as  hee  awaited  the  approach  of  Pelides. 
But  when  th'  hero,  shining  like  a  blazing  fire,  or  even  as 
the  sunne,  commeth  on  like  th'  Helmet-shaker,  Mars,  a 
tremor  seizeth  him  and  he  fleeth  affrighted.  Bound  and 
round  with  swifte  feete  he  doth  fly,  circling  about  Troy's 
walls  thrice,  Achilles  close  following:  a  brave  man  is 
leading  th'  race,  a  braver  one  foUoweth,  since  'tis  not  a 
victim  that  is  sought,  nor  a  hide  of  a  bull,  but  for  th'  very- 
life  (they  run)  of  horse^-breaking  Hector.  This  the  gods 
note,  as  they  begin  the  fourth  time  to  encircle  the  citty, 
and  speake  together  '  concerning  the  fate  of  Hector. 
Finally,  Jove  throweth  into  his  golden  scales  long  sleepe, 
to  mark  to  which  one  it  would  fall,  in  one  having  plac'd 
Achilles'  fate  of  death,  and  Hector's  in  the  other.     As 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  299 

Jupiter  lioldeth  the  scales  up,  poising  them,  Hector's  fatall 
day  doth  go  swiftlie  downe  to  Hades,  and  Phoebus  Apollo 
then  leaveth  him. 

Minerva  induceth  Pelides  to  stand,  in  hope  of  bringing 
about  face  to  face  contest.  Likening  herselfe  to  Deiphobus 
(a  favourite  brother)  she  cometh  nigh  unto  Hector,  and 
perswadeth  his  minde  to  try  his  skill  with  the  Grecian. 
Thus  deceived,  and  thinking  that  one  brother  had  beene 
brave  enough  to  come  to  his  ayde.  Hector  retumeth,  arous'd 
to  the  strife;  yet  attempting  to  make  a  compact  with  his 
opposer,  that,  in  the  event  of  his  fall,  his  armour  oneKe 
should  fall  to  Achilles,  but  that  his  body  should  bee  kept 
for  ransom. 

This  eager  Achilles  loudlie  derideth,  asking  if  any  league 
would  hold  'twixt  men  and  lions,  or  according  minde  be 
found  'twixt  wolve'  and  lambes,  and  avowing  that  no  treaty 
of  any  sort  could  hold  'twixt  them.  Then,  brandishing, 
he  sent  forth  his  long-shadow'd  speare,  but  Hector,  bend- 
ing ove',  doth  avoide  the  blow.  Quickly  the  goddesse, 
bringing  the  weapon  backe,  placeth  it  in  Pelides'  hand. 
Then  Hector  hurl'd  forth  that  mighty  long  shadow'd  speare, 
smiting  the  center  of  that  massy  shield,  nor  miss'd  it;  but 
rebounding,  flew  far  off.  Then  Hector  called  to  white- 
shielded  Deip'obus  to  bring  him  a  long  spear,  but  he  was 
not  near  ham;  and  Hector  perceaved  in  his  minde  that 
Deiphobus  was  not  present  as  he  supposed,  and  felt  that 
without  doubt  the  Fates  o'  death  awaited  him.  But  he© 
resolv'd  to  meet  the  end  bravely. 

Drawing  his  long  sword  that  hung  lowe  at  his  flanke, 
like  a  soaring  eagle  that  doth  sweepe  downe  upon  a  tender 
lambe  or  tim'rous  hare,  so  Hector  rush'd  on  Achilles.  But, 
brandishing  his  speare  and  holding  his  wrought  shield  so 


300  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

that  'twould  warde  a  thrust,  Achilles  also  went  eagerly  for- 
ward. Like  Hesperus  the  brazen  tip  of  his  speare  did 
glister,  as  he  stoode  eying  Hector's  faire  person  in  order  to 
finde  where  best  it  would  yeeld.  Then  was  th'  dreadfull 
weapon  hurl'd  swiftly,  and  it  lodg'd  under  the  collar-bone, 
where  the  necke  and  shoulder  joyne,  yet  did  not  sever 
the  weasand;  therefore,  he  could  yet  speake.  Hee  pray'd 
Achilles  that  his  body  might  not  be  fed  to  Grecian  dogs; 
that  he  would  receive  brasse  and  gold  in  ransom  therefor, 
father  and  mothe'  alike  would  gladly  furnish,  in  order  that 
the  funerall  obsequies  might  bee  performed.  But,  nought 
perswaded,  Achilles  avow'd  that  not  ten  or  twentie  times  the 
ransome  he  had  in  minde,  not  even  gold  should  be  accepted, 
for  nought  could  avert  the  destin'd  ignomy  and  shame. 
And  Hector,  sighing,  said  that  knowing  Achilles  as  he 
did,  he  knew  before  he  spake  what  fate  was  his,  for  th' 
soule  within  the  bosome  of  Achilles  was  iron;  but  hee 
said:  "N'ay,  reflect  lest  the  wrath  o'  th'  gods  fall  on  th.ee 
for  my  sake  on  th'  daye  when  Death's  hand  clutch  thee, 
when  Paris  and  Phcebus  Apollo  shall  strike  thee  downe." 

With  words  like  these  his  soule  descended  to  Hades, 
but  Achilles  still  addrest  the  lifelesse  body,  bidding  him 
dye,  that  hee  fear'd  not  his  fate  at  Jove's  kslnds,  or  by  the 
will  of  other  gods. 

Then  the  rest  of  the  Greekes  approacht  as  Achilles 
pluckt  the  bloodie  armour  from  the  brest,  having  drawne 
forth  the  speare,  and  all  admir'd  the  forme  and  stature  of 
Hector,  yet  none  pass'd  by  without  inflicting  a  wound. 

Then  Achilles  spake  to  the  Greekes,  saying  they  now 
might  try  the  mind  of  Troy,  since  it  was  giv'n  unto  them 
t'  subdue  mighty  Hector,  but  nought  should  be  done  until! 
Patroclus'  funerall  rites  should  be  observ'd.     Then  split- 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  301 

ting  each  heel,  he  fasten'd  leather  thongs  to  them,  by  which 
he  bound  him  to  the  chariot  in  such  a  way  that  his  head 
traird  along,  and  dust  defil'd  his  glorious  locks.  Theui 
taking  up  the  armour,  he  mounted  his  chariot  and  lash'd 
his  steeds  on  towards  the  shippes. 

King  Priam,  seeing  him,  is  undone,  and  Queene  Hecuba 
also  lamenteth  loud;  but  yet  for  a  time  the  wife  of  Hector 
knew  not  what  had  occur'd,  for  no  messenger  had  beene 
sent  to  her.  However,  the  sound  of  wailing  did  pierce  her 
eares,  and  her  heart  interprets  aright  the  measure  of  woe 
meted  out  to  Hlium.  It  is  as  if  its  summit,  stooping  to  its 
fall,  were  wrapt  in  flame.  But  upon  reaching  the  tower^ 
where  the  men  stood  crowded  together,  she  saw  Hector's 
body  being  dragg'd  in  the  dust  towards  the  Grecian  vessells, 
and  fell  swouning,  and  darknesse  veyled  her  frighten'd 
eies;  but  reviving,  she  collected  her  soule,  whilst  'midst 
sobs  she  bewail'd  Hector's  fate  and  hers,  and  with  bereaved 
Andromache  all  the  dames  standing  near  wept  and  moum'd. 

XXIII. 

Then  Achilles  is  wam'd  by  the  ghost  of  his  deceas'd 
friend  to  perf orme  the  f unerall  rites  of  Patroclus,  and  this 
is  done  with  many  games  (for  valuable  prizes). 

XXIV. 

Afterward,  Jove  biddeth  Thetis  go  unto  Achilles  and 
demand  th'  body  of  Hector,  sending  Hermes  forth  also 
to  conduct  old  Priam  unto  him  to  offer  th'  treasures  he 
collected.  Priam's  wife  and  belov'd  sonnes  plead  with  him 
in  vaine  to  restraine  him,  and,  confiding  in  Jove's  omen 
— th'  eagle  cald  with  them  Percnos  or  Black  Hunter — ^he 


303  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OP  FRANCIS  BACON. 

went  fortli  on  that  sad  quest,  but  Mercury  was  a  great 
comforter,  and  upheld  Priam's  courage  and  strength. 

When  th'  gates  in  th'  bulwarkes  behind  the  trench  were 
reached,  Hermes  put  the  men  (who  were  th'  guard)  asleepe 
as  they  were  gone  aside  to  feast,  and  unbolting  the  gates, 
conducted  the  steeds  and  mules  through  the  campe  untill 
they  reach'd  the  lofty  tent  of  Achilles,  that  the  Myrmidons 
rear'd  for  their  king,  loppi'g  the  fir  timbers,  and  cov'ring  it 
with  a  thatch  o'  grasse  mowne  in  the  fragrant  meades,  and 
fencing  it  with  a  great  fence  of  staddles  cut  off  and  set 
thickly.  The  gat©  was  well  sperr'd  up  with  a  single  fir, 
which  three  men  onelie  might  shoot  save  Achilles.  This 
Mercury  op'd  for  old  Priam,  bidding  him  enter  and  embrace 
Achilles  by  the  knees,  and  supplicate  him  by  his  father,  his 
faire^haired  mother,  also  by  his  infant  sonne,  that  he  would 
accepte  the  ransome  for  his  Sonne's  body;  but,  reminding 
him  of  th'  impropriety  of  a  god  overtly  ayding  mortalls, 
tooke  his  depart  and  returned  to  Olympus. 

Priam  then  leapt  downe  from  the  chariot,  leaving  his 
steeds,  mules  and  chariot  in  Idgeus'  care,  and  entering  the 
tent  unobserv'd  as  Achilles  finisht  his  repast,  clasped  his 
knees,  and  kissed  those  dreadfuU  man-slaught'ring  hands; 
and  as  a  dread  sense  of  guilt  seizeth  a  man,  who,  murthering 
a  man  in  his  owne  country,  fleeth  unto  another,  and 
astonish'd  spectators  stand  round,  so  Achilles  wonder'd 
(and  they  that  stood  by,  looking  one  at  other)  seeing  Priam. 

He,  however,  spake  quicklie  and  brought  forth  his 
request,  recalling  to  Achilles'  minde  his  owne  father  of 
the  same  hoary  age,  who  awaited  hopefully  his  living 
Sonne's  retume,  whilst  he,  once  father  of  fifty  brave  sonnes, 
had  scene  many  kil'd  by  the  Greekes;  and  now.  Hector, 
his  best  belov'd,  who  defended  their  citty  and  themselves. 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  308 

was  slaine  by  AcMlks'  hand,  and  he,  Ms  sire,  had  beene 
forc'd  tO'  do  what  no  mortal  man  might  endure — ^kisse  the 
hand  that  had  bereav'd  his  life. 

At  these  words,  a  desire  to  weepe  seized  Achilles,  and  as 
one  writh'd  upon  th'  ground  bemoaning  his  Sonne's  fate, 
the  other  thought  with  regret  of  his  distant  father  and 
of  his  friend  Patroclus.  But  after  a  time,  Achilles,  rising, 
lifted  up  the  old  man,  bidding  him  be  seated  (for  he 
respected  his  hoary  haires)  and  he  exhorted  him  to  let 
sorrow  sink  to  rest  in  his  minde,  saying:  "Chill  grief e  is 
uselesse,  for  no  mortall  can  escape  wretchednesse,  and  none 
save  the  god's  are  free  from  evill.  Two  caskes,  the  one 
containing  evills,  the  other  good  gifts,  stand  beside  Jove's 
threashold.  From  these  hee  sendeth  forth  mingled  good 
and  ill.  Man  falleth  now  upon  one,  againe  upon  another; 
sorrow,  calamity,  nimble  mischance  that  hath  soe  swifte  a 
foot,  pursue  him,  nor  is  he  honour'd  of  gods  or  men. 
Peleus,  indeed,  receyv'd  golden  gifts — riches  and  wealth, 
yet  an  ill  fate  has  fallen  upon  him  in  that  he  had  one 
only  Sonne,  who,  with  slight  care  of  his  owne  life,  put  it 
in  jeopardie  dailie  before  Illion,  in  despite  of  the  knowledge 
of  his  short  span,  which  even  his  goddesse  mother  might 
not  lengthen.  Of  thee,  also,  have  wee  heard  that  thy 
wealth  at  a  former  time  did  exceed  many,  and  that  from 
low^er  Phrygia  to  Hellespontus  on  the  north  thy  borders 
then  reached;  but  now  the  gods  have  sent  bane  upon 
thee,  and  warre  and  slaying  of  men  do  encompasse  thy  citty. 
Yet  arise  (for  thou  canst  by  mourning  and  griefe  availe 
nought,  nor  restore  him)  ere  further  evills  come  upon 
thee." 

Priam  indeed  thought  it  not  well  that  he  should  be 
seated  or  give  place  untill  Achilles  had  granted  his  prayer. 


304  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

This  provok'd  a  hasty  reply,  but  at  length  the  presents 
were  brought  in,  save  two  cloalces, — a  well  woven  tunicke 
a]sQ^ — which  were  left  to  place  on  the  body.  Pelides  bade 
Idaeus  enter  and  be  seated,  but  he  kept  the  corpse  from 
aged  Priam's  sight,  lest  his  mourning  cries  should  so  move 
him  that  hee  could  not  stay  his  hand,  and,  taking  his  life, 
displease  Jupiter;  then,  giving  orders  that  th'  female 
attendants  should  wash  and  annoint  th'  body,  waited  with- 
out, and,  when  this  was  accomplish'd,  himselfe  tooke  it 
up,  put  it  upon  the  litter,  and  with  his  companion's  helpe, 
plac'd  it  on  the  beautifull  chariot,  at  the  same  time  making 
a  moan  to  Patroclus  because  of  the  deed. 

Afterward  he  retum'd  into  the  tent,  and  seating  himself 
on  a  couch  over  against  Priam,  urg'd  him  to  take  food,  since 
his  Sonne  was  plac'd  on  a  bier  and  he  could  return  to  Illium 
on  the  morrow.  He  citeth  to  him  Xiobe's  case,  who 
moum'd  the  losse  of  twelve  childre'  destroy'd  by  Apollo 
and  Diana  because  she  compar'd  herselfe  unto  th'  faire 
cheek'd  Latona,  who  (she  said)  was  the  mother  unto  but 
two,  while  she  had  borne  many.  Yet,  although  overcome 
with  grief e,  Niobe  was  mindefull  of  food.  "Let  us  like- 
wise be  now  attentive  to  our  repast,  then  shalt  thou  lament 
this  thy  Sonne,  conveying  him  to  Troy,  and  thou  shalt 
bewaile  him  with  many  teares." 

So  saying,  they  prepar'd  the  repast  quickly,  drank  wine 
together  amicably,  ate  of  th'  roasted  fleash,  et  csetera.  Then 
Priam,  opposite  Pelides,  much  admir'd  him,  comparing  him 
to  the  gods;  and  Achilles  in  tume  marvell'd  at  Dardanian 
Priam,  seeing  his  amiable  expression  and  hearing  him  as 
he  convers'd.  But  when  they  had  gaz'd  untill  they  were- 
satisfied,  the  old  man  begg'd  that  Achilles  would  send  him 
to  his  rest. 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  805 

Achilles  willingly  granting  him  th'  request,  he  and  his 
herald  had  couches  prepar'd  for  them  upon  th'  porch, 
while  Pelides  went  to  rest  within  the  tent,  and  beside  him 
lay  f  aire  Briseis. 

But  Mercury  slept  not,  for  he  was  devising  a  meanes 
to  lead  Priam  away  safely.  Therefore  he  descended  from 
Olympus  hastily,  wakenM  him,  standing  beside  him,  arous'd 
Idaeus  noiselessly  and  assisted  him  to  yoke  the  steeds  and 
the  mules,  then  went  with  them  through  the  campe;  nor 
did  hee  leave  them  untill  they  reach'd  the  eddying  Xanthus 
begotten  by  undying  Jove.  Then  he  ascended  Olympus, 
and  saffron-hued  mom  was  diffused  ore  th'  earth.  Then 
they  drove  the  steeds  toward  the  citty  (and  the  mules  bear- 
ing the  body),  but  none  saw  them  save  Cassandra,  who 
like  unto  golden  Yenus,  ascended  Pergamus,  and  looking 
out  acrosse  the  plaine,  beheld  them  approaching,  and  soone 
assembled  the  people;  soe  they  met  them  near  the  gates 
coming  in  with  the  body,  nor  was  there  a  man  nor  woman 
left  in  the  citty,  so  generall  was  the  mourning. 

First  came  his  wife  and  venerable  mother,  plucking  out 
their  haire  as  they  touch'd  Hector's  head,  whilst  all  th' 
spectators  wept.  They,  indeed,  all  that  day  would  have 
moum'd  and  shed  tears,  if  aged  Priam  had  not  bade  them 
cease  their  cries,  and  give  way  unto  th'  chariot  tiU  he  had 
borne  him  home;  then  might  they  weepe  untill  they  were 
saciated  mth  mourning.  Therefore,  they  stoode  afare  off, 
and,  carrying  him  to  th'  illustrious  pallace,  they  placed  him 
on  th'  ornamented  bed;  and  plac'd  singers  beside  it,  leaders 
of  the  dirge,  who  sang  mourning  ditties  whilst  the  women 
made  responsive  moanes.  Among  them  his  wife  beganne 
thus,  while  her  hands  held  Hector's  head: 


306  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

<^ 

"O  husband,  hast  thou  died  young  in  yeares,  whilst  I 

am  left  a  widow  in  the  pallace?  And  beside  myself e,  here 
is  thy  infant  sonne  to  whom  I  have  given  birth,  ill-fated, 
who,  I  doubt  not,  will  nere  attain  to  manhood's  strength, 
for  ere  that,  our  citty  will  topple  to  its  compleat  destruc- 
tion. Certainely  thou,  who  wert  ever  its  defender,  and 
didst  keepe  from  losse  or  injury  its  venerable  wives  and 
infant  children,  art  no  more.  They  will  be  carried  captive 
to  the  shippes,  nor  shall  I  escape.  But  thou,  O  my  sonne, 
shalt  perchance  accompany  me  where  thou  must  performe 
unworthy  tasks,  toyling  for  a  mercilesse  lord;  or  else 
some  one  of  the  Greekes  (whose  father,  brother,  or  even 
his  sonne  thy  father  may  have  slaine)  may  grasp  with  force 
thy  tender  hand,  that  he  may  cast  thee  headlong  from  some 
tower  and  dash  thy  life  out.  For  true  it  is,  thy  father 
many  an  acte  like  unto  this  hath  here  performed.  He 
never  might  be  gentle  to  his  foes,  or  leave  an  enemy  to 
go  unpunish'd;  but,  by  his  hand,  many  a  Greek  hath  beene 
made  to  seize  the  earth  with  his  set  teeth.  It  is  for  this 
the  people  so  lament  in  every  nooke  and  angle  of  th'  cittie. 
0  Hector,  thou  hast  caus'd  untold  calamity,  and  griefe 
unutterable  unto  us  all,  most  to  thy  loving  parents  and  to 
me.  Bitter,  aye,  bitter  is  my  endlesse  griefe,  for  thou 
didst  not  upon  thy  couch  when  dying,  stretch  out  thy 
hands  to  me,  nor  speake  my  name,  or  give  me  any  word 
of  prudent  counsell,  to  comfor'  me  long  yeares  to  come." 

Thus  speaking,  with  floods  of  teares.  Hector's  fayre  wife 
lamented,  and  with  her  all  the  other  women  moaned. 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  307 

(Note.)  Andromache,  in  her  prophetic  soul,  knew 
her  owne  fate  and  doth  foretell  that  of  their  child. 
This  is  told  in  the  ^neid,  which  I  also  translated,  and 
is  most  patlietick  and  tender.  Ever  mourning,  the 
childe  in  her  heart,  in  her  sad  exile,  keepeth  pace  • 
with  other  children,  and  when  she  wrapt  that  other 
smiling  babe  within  the  cloake  her  loving  hands  had 
wrought  soe  skilfully  with  threades  of  rich  gold,  she 
said,  "Astyanax  would  have  beene  like  in  age;  his 
hands,  his  haire,  his  smiling  eies  like  thine."  And 
every  mother,  in  all  the  centuries  since  that  sad  day, 
doth  sorrow  with  like  paine  from  secret  sympathie 
that  mothers  knowe.  The  lines  which  containe  this 
moumefull  story  are  thrice  given  in  my  workes.  The 
sublimity  of  love  and  sorrow  such  as  hers  is  most 
wonderfull,  and  is  excell'd  by  nothing  in  our  language 
except  the  stories  of  sacred  history.  Even  Hecuba's 
lot  was  much  lighter,  for  she  died  at  th'  hands  of  their 
captors.     But  to  retume. 

Now  cometh  aged  Hecuba  in  place,  and  thus  doth  make 
her  moane: 

"O  Hector,  thou  wert  dearest  of  my  sons,  and  truly  of 
the  gods  thou  wert  the  care,  not  alone  in  thy  life,  but  also 
in  this  destiny  of  death.  Eor  all  my  other  sonnes  who 
fell  into  Achilles'  hands,  were  sold  beyond  the  sea  at 
Lemnos,  Samos,  or  at  Imbrius;  but  thou,  though  he  hath 
tane  thy  precious  life,  and  daily  dragg'd  thee  round 
Patroclus'  tomb,  liest  within  our  palaces  as  fresh  and  beauti- 
ful! of  forme  and  every  feature,  as  if  Apollo,  with  his  silver 
bow,  had  reav'd  thee  but  to-day  of  joyous  life." 


808  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Thus  speaking,  aged  Hecuba  did  cease  her  vehement 
laments,  while  all  the  women  join'd  in  teares  and  moanes. 

Helen  came  third^  weeping  sad  tears,  heavy  sighes 
breaking  the  wordes,  and  said: 

"0  Hector,  thou  wert  a  beloved  brother,  as  Alexander 
th'  god-like  man  is  my  husband.  Kind  hast  thooi  and  my 
father  ever  beene  (and  here  have  I  dwelt  twenty  yeares),. 
but  th'  others  altogether  despise  me,  and  there  is  none  other 
in  th'  breadth  of  Illium  who  will  be  kind  to  mee.  There- 
fore I  must  mourne,  not  all  alone  for  thee,  but  for  my 
unhappy  selfe." 

Ceasing  to  speake  they  mingled  one  long  cry.  Then 
Priam  bade  them  bring  to  Troy  the  wood  for  the  funerall 
pyle,  assuring  them  that  they  had  nought  to  feare  until! 
twelve  daies  should  have  expired,  for  th'  word  of  Achilles 
was  pledg'd  that  no  ambuscade  should  lay  in  wait  for  th'" 
Trojans  untill  th'  funerall  rites  were  concluded. 

Therefore,  'wdth  both  mules  and  oxen,  for  th'  space- 
of  nine  days  did  they  bring  the  wood  from  the  mount  in 
quantities.  When,  however,  th'  tenth  morn  brought  light 
unto  mortalls,  they  carried  forth  noble  Hector  and  placed" 
him  upon  th'  pyle,  and  applied  fire*  to  th'  wood; 

But  when  rosy  finger'd  Morn  appeared,  they  gather'd' 
round  th'  pile  of  illustrious  Hector;  and  whe'  all  had! 
assembled  together,  they  extinguish'd  with  darke  wine  all 
the  pile  that  the  fire  had,  ravening,  taken  hold  on;  and; 
the  brothers  and  companions  of  Hector,  with  tearfull  eies,. 
gather'd  together  his  white  bones.  These  they  plac'd  in  a 
beautifull  urn  of  gold,  which  they  forthwith  deposited  in 
a  deepe  grave,  heaping  on  it  numerous  sharpe  stones.  This, 
however,  they  did  hastily,  and  kept  constant  and  strict 
watch,  lest  the  Greekes  should  make  an  attack  too  soone.. 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ILIAD.  309 

But  when  thej  had  heap'd  up  th'  tomb  properly,  they 
assembled  in  Jove-nurtur'd  Priam's  lofty  pallaces,  and 
feasted  on  a  splendid  banquet. 

Thus  were  the  solemn  funerall  rites  of  the  great  steede^ 
breaking  Hector  performed. 

And  this  compleats  Homer's  Illiads,  but  the  story  of 
some  of  the  great  heroes  may  be  found  in  my  workes,  for 
I  wrote  out,  not  only  his  Odysses  in  the  great  Cypher,  but 
th'  ^neid  of  the  noble  Yirgil.  Thus  can  you  peruse  th' 
conclusion,  and  followe  the  wily  Grecian  Ulysses,  and  th' 
mighty  sonne  of  lovely  Venus  that  she  bore  to  Anchyses — 
Trojan  ^neas.  The  marginall  notes  of  our  work  which 
you  now  are  using,  hath  an  argument  to  my  translation 
of  th'  ^^neid,  while  a  Latine  worke  entituled'  De  Augmentis 
Scientiarum  will  give  ayde  upon  th'  other.  As  in  this 
work,  you  doubtlesse  will  note  that  favorit  partes  are 
enlarg'd,  yet  as  it  lendeth  assistance  to  th'  discypherer,  it 
will  not  be  any  disadvantage  or  hindrance. 

In  confident  hope,  I  have  intrusted  this  labour  to  your 
hands  and  am  contente. 

FRANCIS  ST.  ALBAN. 


FEANCIS  BACON.  ' 

DE  AUGMENTIS. 
1624. 

Where,  by  a  slighte  alteration  of  the  common  Italicke 
letters,  the  alphabets  of  a  bi-literate  Cyphar  having  the 
two  forms  are  readily  obtain'd  (instead  o'  letters  that  I 
cut  out  because  I  f  eare  anie  eye  might  reade  what  is  hid 
in  Cyphar,  had  such  as  are  seene  heere  beene  employed 
in  an  example)  in  every  booke  I  send  forth  I  use,  for 
complete  yet  somewhat  scattered  rules  or  directions  for 
another  of  different  scope,  this  or  other  similar  Cyphers, 
choosing,  you  observe,  one  in  which  there  can  be  trusted 
any  great  state  matter,  and  anything  we  holde  of  a  nature 
such  that  it  requireth  a  wisdome  greater,  I  doubte  nought, 
than  wise  King  Salomon's  to  finds  the  purpose  thereof, — 
I  mean  the  historic  of  my  birth,  and  also  my  brother's, 
for  I  have  written  both  in  this  secret  storie. 

We  alwaies  prize  most  a  thing  that  hath  longest  evaded 
our  pursuite,  for  a  man's  nature  ever  hath  some  dregs  of 
wild  waies  in  despight  of  ages  of  clarifying  or  racking. 
There  is  somewhat  of  the  hunter  about  all  men:  quietly 
waiting  untill  th'  game  be  scented,  but  rushing  forth  with 
halloo  more  piercing  then  his  home  as  hee  joyneth  the 
chace.  Thus  pursute  becometh  universall :  but  should  Art 
teach  my  most  constant  and  watchfull  hunter  to  follow  in 
perfect  silence,  hee  shall  alone  unkennell  th'  skulkinge 
foxe,  beare,  triumphantly,  the  prize  homewards,  and  enjoie 
honours  by  no  one  shared.     Mine  may  bee  stil'd  simila', 

310 


IN  DE  AUGMENTIS.  811 

in  fact,  for  th'  honour  of  this  methode — us'd  whenere 
secret  mater,  of  whatsoever  kinde,  is  put  forth,  glorifying 
for  all  futurity  one  that  should  finde  this — cannot  crowne 
any  brow  save  mine. 

So  blind  are  men,  that  I  tell  heerewith  a  pretty  tale, 
as  in  the  playes  to  my  Margaret,  write  out  historic,  give 
lines  in  all  kinds  of  poetrie  that  I  have  in  anie  place  found 
easy  or  pleasant,  in  so  plain  sight,  you,  indeede,  will  find 
light  work  divesting  them  o'  manic  disguises,  but  no  eye 
save  our  owne  espyes  a  word  or  signe.  Thus  will  you 
doubt  th'  shrewdnesse  they  boast  soe  great,  but  can  men 
find  what  none  looke  for,  or  pursew  a  path  not  ent'red 
upon,  neither  sought? 

I  masqued  manie  grave  secrets  in  my  poems  which  I 
have  publisht,  now  as  Peele's  or  Spenser's,  now  as  my 
owne,  then  againe  in  th'  name  of  authours,  so  cald,  who 
plac'd  workes  of  mixt  sort  before  a  reading  world,  prose 
and  poetry.  To  Robt,  Greene  did  I  entruste  most  of  that 
work — rather  his  name  appear'd  as  authour:  therein  you 
may  finde  a  large  portion  that  belonging  truely  to  the 
realme  of  poetrie,  would  wel  grace  verse,  yet  it  did  not 
then  seeme  f aire  matter  for  it.  As  plaies  some  parts  were 
againe  used. 

Pull  off  ev'n  now  th'  outside,  disguising  my  story.  I 
am  the  rightfull  heire  to  th'  throne,  since  th'  blood  of 
Bang  Henry  is  running  i'  these  veynes — th'  same  as  in 
any  Tudor.  If  the  late  Queene  could  claime  th'  throne, 
I,  her  earliest  flower  of  royall  issue,  was  by  th'  like  right 
— it  goes  without  saying — at  any  and  all  times  heir- 
aparent  to  proud  England's  wide  realm. 


312  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

But  the  day  of  justice  having  gone,  past  long  since  all 
hope  of  my  atchieving  glory  or  fame,  as  the  ruler  of  th' 
realme  of  England,  Ireland,  Wales,  France, — as  formerly 
one  portio'  of  the  later  was  ours — also  our  colonies  in  all 
th'  regions  of  the  globe,  fro'  remote  East  to  a  remoter 
West.  Never  shall  th'  crowne  rest  on  Prince  Fran- 
cis' loftie  brow;  never  shall  th'  great  throne  of  this 
land  bear  up  the  sonne  to  the  so-stiled  Virgin  Queen, 
wedde'  wife  of  Robt.,  Earl  of  Leicester!  Can  these 
things  be  and  not  incite  in  one's  heart  a  wish  of  shewing 
the  truth  to  future  generatio's?  Cap  one  of  such  a  noble 
nature  bee  contente  to  bee  but  a  common  subject,  who, 
knowing  that  by  th'  virtue  of  kingly  birth,  royall  power 
should  come,  doth  feele  assur'd  that  hee  hath  noe  lacke  in 
th'  parts  and  endowme'ts  all  that  hold  regall  swaie  doe 
require?  and  who  having  within  such  impulses  of  th'  god- 
like patriarchal  care  for  his  owne  people  would  willinglie 
give  his  time,  his  mony,  labour,  or  all  a  Prince's  power  at 
anie  time  gone  by,  that  yet  shall  be,  or  is,  may,  or  may 
have  performed  for  his  subjects? 

For  this  reaso'  do  I  labour  for  men's  elevation  and 
holde  communion  with  Science.  As  knowledge  doth  in- 
crease, th'  pleasure  I  take  is  greatlie  increas'd  also,  and  I 
see  here  before  mee  a  boundlesse  province  over  which  our 
raign  may  neve'  cease.  Th'  secret  story  heere  told  doth 
fully  set  our  wrongs  before  future  reader' :  unto  such  do 
wee  turne  for  judgement. 

This  work,  however,  was  intended  for  ayde  upo' 
another  Cyphar,  and  next  we  will  give  keyes  after  we 
write  out  the  argume't  o'  th'  work.  This  is  Homer's  verse 
also,  and  doth  take  rank  with  his  Uliads.     The  title  is: 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ODYSSES.  313 


THE  ODYSSES. 


The  opening  scene  is  laid  in  an  ile  where  dwelt  the 
fayre  young  sprite — th'  nymphe,  Calypso.  Th'  ile  farr- 
distant  from  men  or  gods  was  lovelie,  indeed,  and  yet  quite 
solitary.  It  can  bee  well  scene,  therefore,  without  ex- 
plaineing,  faire,  sweete  Calypso  wish'd  to  caste  a  spell  over 
th'  guest,  whose  ship  was  wrecked,  soe  that  he  must  needes 
remaine. 

Seven  yeares  he  was  thus  restrained,  whilst  hee  daily 
longed  to  sayle  awaie  from  fayrest  land  of  Ogygia  to  that 
farre-away  rugged  Ithica  where  his  wife,  awaiting  his 
retume,  shed  many  a  teare.  However  th'  faire  nymphe 
entertain'd  him  with  so  much  kindnesse  (and  having  be- 
come the  mother  of  two  sonnes,  earnestly  besought  the 
wanderer  nere  to  depart,)  to  leave  would  have  beene  a 
cruell  action;  and  indeed  love  so  mastereth  her  after 
Odysseus  findes  meanes  once  againe  of  going  to  sea,  having 
ayded  him  as  Mercuric  gave  orde',  nor  day  nor  night 
bringeth  surcease  and  end  to  sorrowe.  Griefe  doth  final- 
lie  drive  Atlas'  daughte'  to  throw  away  her  life,  for  she 
plung'd  into  the  ocean  and  was  drown'd. 

II. 

In  th'  lie  o'  Ithica  the  principall  men,  seeing  the 
vast  throng  of  suters  urging  upon  Penelope,  the  prudent 
and  faithfull  spouse  this  wanderer  soe  long'd  to  reach, 
(even  as  is  seen,  choosing  her  before  hope  of  immortality, 
which  Calypso  promis'd  him  if  onely  he  would  remaine 
in  Ogygya,)  holde  a  councill.     By  th'  advice  of  th'  gods, 


814  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

and  by  their  instruction  a  plann  is  made  to  fit  out  the 
vessel!  of  Telemachus  and  send  him  forth  to  bring  home 
this  lost  sire  and  husband. 

Minerva  accompanies  him  in  guise  of  Mentor  as  guide 
and  protecto',  and  first  they  saile  unto  sandy  Pylos  to  get 
advice,  as  th'  sage  who  reigned  over  that  wide  land,  aged 
Nestor,  had  great  wisdome. 

III. 

Here  hee  is  told  to  go  to  the  magnanimou'  king  o' 
Sparta,  Menelaus. 

IV. 

Of  him  not  meerelie  are  they  receiv'd  most  hos- 
pitably, having  beene  made  favour'd  guests  at  his  mag- 
nificent pallace, — Telemachus,  forsooth,  receiving  much 
kindnesse  from  fayre  Helen,  being  th'  sonne  to  the  wilyest 
man  that  follow'd  her  into  Phrygia  to  avenge  her  rape, — 
in  truth  they  are  informed  also  of  his  sire's  shippewracke 
on  Orgygia,  of  th'  waye  in  which  Atlas'  winsome  daughter 
had  soe  long  prevented  any  efforts  to  escape. 


Odysseus  had  now  finisht  th'  vessell,  with  faire  Calyp- 
so's assistance,  furnish'd  it  well,  donn'd  a  choice  robe 
presented  by  her,  bade  the  nymph  farewell  and  set  out 
on  th'  voyage.  During  seventeene  days  fayre  weather  and 
a  favouring  saili'g  breeze  prevayled,  but  on  th'  next  it 
became  tempestuous  and  his  vessell  soone  began  to  sinke. 
Throwi'g  offe  the  clinging  garment  he  cast  himselfe  into 
th'  sea,  and  preserv'd  from  death  by  th'  care  of  Pallas, 
finds  land  on  the  Phseacian  shores. 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ODYSSES.  315 

VI. 
Here  being  found  then  by  Nausicaa,  th'  kinges  daugh- 
ter, as  he  doth  lie  wrapt  in  soothing  sleepe, 

VII. 

He  is  led  to  th'  court,  cloth'd  and  rendered  fit  to  take 
part  as  beseemeth  his  position,  and  hospitablie  entertained 
by  her  father. 

VIII. 

•At  a  festive  gath'ring,  as  the  costlie  meats  and 
wines  are  plac'd  before  them,  Odysseus  doth  give  an 
acompt  of  those  wanderings  since  the  fall  of  Troie,  re- 
counti'g  all  his  narrow  escapes  from  manie  a  difficil6 
situation. 

IX. 

Therein  spake  he  of  those  disastrous  chances,  by 
which  he  nearly  lost  his  life;  told  his  experience  among 
th'  Lotu'-eaters,  how  the  sailors  long'd  to  remaine  in  th' 
land  where  it  seemeth  ever  an  afternoon. 

Alcinous,  much  interessed  in  th'  recitall,  bade  Odysseus 
dilate  the  storie,  and  he  ran  it  thorowe  even  to  that 
momente  as  he  sat  at  meat.  He  told  th'  storie  of  further 
adventures — a  stay  on  th'  He  of  Goats;  sailing  on  to  finde 
th'  Cyclops,  having  twelve  of  his  men  with  him,  our  trav- 
eller enco'nt'red  Polyphemus,  in  his  cave,  where  six  of  his 
sturdy  followers  were  eaten  even  while  th'  hero  stood 
there,  nor  could  hee  and  th'  others  have  escapt  a  like  fate 
had  not  Odyseus  made  th'  great  monsterr  intoxicated  with 
Grecian  wine.  Without  delay  Odysseus  burned  out  the 
giant's  eye  which  occupied  th'  middle  of  his  face,  for  he 
had  but  a  single  optick.  Render'd  helpeles  thereby  Poly- 
phemus could  not  staye  their  departure. 


816  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

X. 

They  then  ster'd  westwards,  coming  first  to  th'  Isle 
of  ^olus.  The  wind-god  gave  them  the  windes  in 
a  bag,  hence  th'  wand'rings  might  have  come  to  a 
close,  had  not  th'  inquisitive  sailours  open'd  the  bag  and 
allow'd  severall  to  escape.  Having  but  a  single  wind 
remaineing  and  that  being  westerly,  they  were  swept  f arre 
awaie  towards  the  setting  sunne.  They  sawe  Canibals 
which  eate  each  other,  call'd  th'  Antropophagi,  or  Laestry- 
gones,  and  men  whose  heads  grow  beneath  their  shoulders. 

At  length  comming  to  the  iland  of  Circe,  th'  en- 
cha'tresse,  they  are  detained  a  yeare,  as  th'  spells  Circe 
threwe  over  the  men  chang'd  them  to  swine,  but  by  th' 
use  of  Moly,  an  herb  that  Mercury  furnisht  him,  they 
were  at  once  restor'd  to  their  naturall  forme.  Circe,  how- 
ever, even  though  shee  long'd  to  keepe  Odysseus  by  her, 
assisted  in  manie  ways  when  he  set  out  againe. 


XL 


Soone  they  came  to  the  Oceanus,  swift  flowinge; 
visited  the  Cimmerii  that  dwell  in  pitchy  night  nor  ere 
behold  th'  day.  Thence  he  went  into  the  nether-world 
and  inquired  of  the  seer,  Teiresias,  how  hee  might  reach 
his  farre-away  native  countrie,  Ithica.  The  seer  tells  him 
Jove's  wrath  doth  bume  strongly  against  our  bold  wan- 
derer because  of  his  injury  to  the  gigantic  Polyphemus, 
as  he  was  sonne  to  one  of  th'  gods,  Poseido'.  When  this 
was  said  it  made  the  blood  in  his  values  flow  icylie,  yet 
the  seer  told  him  whither  he  must  saile,  in  orde'  that  he 
might  reach  his  home. 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ODYSSES.  317 

XII. 

Upon  his  waye  backe  acrosse  th'  westeme  sea,  he 
againe  visited  Circe  who  furder  asisted  him,  gave  him 
advice,  counseling  him  well  regarding  dangers  he  would 
meete.  Passing  th'  place  in  which  th'  Sirens  make  their 
sweetest  melodic  (that  they  may  cause  th'  destruction  of 
the  passers  by,  luringe  them  from  a  safe  channell  so  that 
their  vessell  splits  on  a  sunken  rock  ere  one  can  see  dan- 
ger) he  ordered  his  companio's  to  binde  him  fast  to  th* 
mast,  so  that  hearing  the  musicke  and  feeling  its  charme, 
he  could  not  if  he  desir'd,  follow  them.  The  sailors  heard 
not  one  sound,  as  Odysseus  had  giv'n  them  a  charge,  ere 
reachi'g  the  spot,  all  eares  should  now  be  made  deafe  to 
these  songs  by  being  well  filled. 

So  one  dread  peril  is  passed;  then  those  more  awefuU 
dangers,  Charybdis  on  one  side  and  Scilla  on  th'  other, 
threat  them.  Six  of  the  sailors,  dashed  on  th'  sharp  rocks, 
were  kill'd,  while  all  narrowlie  e§capt  the  Maelstrom  that 
doth  sucke  shippes  downe  to  the  lower  world. 

Yet,  clearing  these,  they  once  more  set  their  course  to 
go  to  farr-off  Ithica,  coming  nexte  to  Thrinatia,  an  island 
in  the  western  sea  in  which  Helios,  th'  sun-god,  kept  the 
famous  cattell.  Having  in  remembrance  his  instructio's 
that  Teiresias  had  particularly  impress'd  on  him,  Odysseus 
attempted  to  passe  by  with  speede  and  avoide  the  tempt- 
ing creatures,  yet  everie  sailor  was  fuly  determined  to 
land;  so  whilst  Odysseus  was  unmindfull  of  his  men,  or 
this  purpose,  as  he  lay  lock'd  i'  the  armes  o'  Sleep,  they 
hastily  killed  these  cattell — or  a  number  of  the'.  Because 
of  it  Zeus,  angrie  and  revengefull,  sent  his  dreaded  thun- 
der-bolt and  wrecked  the  vessell  killing  all  save  Odyseus,* 


318  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

preserving  him  because  of  his  promise  to  Pallas  Athene  of 
his  safe  arrivall  in  Ithica. 

Hee  also  relateth  to  Alcinous — that  known  alreadie  to 
the  reader— th'  stay  at  Ogygia,  and  Atlas'  daughter's  offer 
of  immortality;  how  no  bliss  could  bee  like  his,  could  hee 
see  his  native  land,  th'  wife  of  his  bosome,  Telemachus,  his 
dear  sonne,  and  his  olde  servants. 

XIII. 

This  moveth  King  Alcinous  to  give  him  a  shippe 
and  send  him  forth  on  the  homeward  voyage.  This, 
then,  was  straightway  accomplish'd — King,  Queene,  as 
well  as  gentle  young  princesse  gave  him  manie  rich  robes 
and  ornaments,  costly  articles  of  all  kinds  fit  for  th'  ran- 
some  of  a  great  king,  to  carry  to  Ithaca  that  his  travaile 
and  toyles  be  rewarded. 

Sailing  with  an  auspiciou'  gale  th'  voyage  was  briefe 
and  very  soone  th'  harbour  close  by  commeth  to  viewe. 
At  dawne  they  enter  to  sounds  that  the  joyous  waves  when 
driv'n  by  merry  gales  ever  do  make,  yet  not  a  note  may 
reach  an  eare  which  is  seeled  by  Sleepe;  the  wand'rer  lieth 
lockt  in  th'  dreamelesse  slumber  of  th'  dead,  and  they  put 
into  th'  haven  of  Phorcys  where  their  vessell  lieth  at  rest 
without  anchor  or  stay  of  any  kinde,  while  he  is  yet  under 
th'  spell,  and  th'  Phseacian  sailors  taking  him  up  verie 
gently  conveye  both  him  and  th'  vast  treasures  to  shore. 

Rowing  thither  and  returning  softly,  they  disembark 

the  stores  given  him  by  Alcinou',  Arete,  or  Nausicaa,  and 

leaving  him  by  the  shore  with  soft  sleepe  on  the  senses, 

th'  treasure  heapt  at  his  side,  they  proceed  at  once  to 

returne  unto  their  owne  land. 

When  th'  sleeper  waketh  he  doth  still  think  that  it  is 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ODYSSEY.  819 

a  place  not  familiar,  since  he  cannot  at  present  discern 
th'  port,  Minerva  having  caste  a  mistie  cloud  upon  every- 
thing, to  keepe  his  presence  secret;  but  after  a  short 
periode,  shee,  comming  unto  him  and  dispelling  th'  mists 
sheweth  him  th'  olive-trees,  that  cave  of  th'  nymphs  on  th' 
slope  of  th'  hil,  and  the  nimphes  weaving  their  beauteous 
robes  of  purple  hue,  also  loftie  olde  N^eritos  with  his  bosky 
sides  above  this. 

He  recogniz'd  his  beloved"  Ithaca  then,  and  sta'ding 
near,  th'  goddesse  spake  thus  unto  him:  "Thou  art  re- 
turned to  Ithaca  because  I,  Mine'va,  ever  watchfull  guided 
thy  waye,  guarding  thy  life  where  ever  thou  wert  lest 
thy  eager  enemie  slaye  thee.  Therefore  wait  with  a 
patiente  spirit  and  beare  all  th'  evill  that  shall  come  to 
thee,  for  the  day  of  the  great  vengeance  is  at  hand." 

The  goddesse  ayding,  hastilie  they  now  co'ceal'd  the 
gifts  o'  Alcinous,  Arete  and  fairest  Nausicaa,  in  th'  cave 
fast  by  a  streame  of  liying  water  flowing  into  th'  sea. 
Palla'  then  touch'd  Odysseus  with  the  wande  she  carried, 
soe  that  old  age  possess'd  his  form,  making  the  limbes 
stiff  and  bent,  whilst  his  face  lookes  old  and  wither'd  and 
the  abundant  faire  hair  hardly  can  reach  to  his  shoulders, 
and  sparselie  doth  shewe.  Then  Athene  caste  a  begger's 
wallet  on  his  bended  backe,  shewed  a  well  niarked  path 
leading  up  to  th'  dwelling  of  Eumseus,  th'  swineherd,  and 
bade  th'  traveler  proceed  to  that  place. 

XIV. 

Obedient  to  this  mandate  Odysseus  approacht  th' 
house.  As  he  ent'red  the  courtyard,  dogs  bark'd  with 
soe  much  furie  the  swineheard  went  to  see  what  caus'd  the 
confusion,  then  catching  sight  sodainelie  of  th'  wanderer. 


320  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

quicklie  he  doth  bring  him  in,  biddeth  him  such  welcome 
as  th'  house  aiforded  spreading  a  skin  for  a  couch,  saying 
as  wine  is  drunke: 

"Though  I  dwell  still  in  this  happie  country  it  is  not 
now  like  dales  gone  by,  for  now  th'  young  chiefes  govern, 
and  th'  friend  whose  love  guarded  us  doth  still  staye  away 
from  his  native  land.  Th'  wife  wasting  her  faire  beautie 
in  griefe  doth  looke  for  his  returne,  watching  whilst  others 
feast  and  sleepe,  yet  for  my  owne  part  I  fear  that  he  will 
fail  to  reach  th'  countrie  of  his  nativity." 

Then  th'  stranger  inquir'd  what  name  bore  a  wanderer 
soe  lov'd.  Assuring  th'  faithfull  old  servitor  that  Odys- 
seus was  yet  alive,  but  fearing  at  present  to  make  himselfe 
suspected  hee  narrateth  instead,  some  advent'rous  wan- 
d'rings  claiming  to  have  had  thereby  knowledge  of  th' 
long  absente  Odysseus,  saying  his  vast  wealth  of  treasures 
was  at  that  very  time  to  be  scene  in  Thesprotia,  for  th' 
king  of  that  land  had  shewn  him  th'  same  and  told  him 
it  was  the  treasure  of  th'  wand'ring  king  o'  Ithaca. 

He  moreover  is  ready  to  take  oth  that  a  yeares  course 
of  th'  sunne  will  not  bee  ended  ere  Odysseus  come  home ; 
but  faithfull  old  Eumseus  cannot  have  faith  in  his  prom- 
ises, since  an  ^olian  had  told  once  before  of  something 
similar,  saying  hee,  himselfe,  at  distant  He  of  Crete  had 
come  upon  th'  Ithacan  as  he  prepar'd  to  go  out  to  sea, 
with  Idomeneus'  help  maki'g  whole  th'  vessels  broken  by 
storm  and  tempest,  and  quite  assur'd  that  he  would  gain 
Ithaca  ere  summer  waned.  But  he  came  not,  and 
Eumseus  for  his  owne  part  wish'd  all  Hellen's  kinne  were 
no  more,  ere  Odysseus  spent  his  fortune,  or  gave  soe  much 
strength,  soe  many  yeares  of  his  young  manhood,  to 
avenge  th'  insulte. 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ODYSSES.  321 

XV. 

Meanwhile  Pallas  Athense  doth  appear  to  Telemachus 
in  Sparta,  as  hee  lieth  sleeplesse  on  his  ivory  couch. 
A  glist'ning  light  fill'd  his  whole  room,  and  Pallas 
said  to  him  that  he  must  returne  to  Ithaca,  for  th'  daye  of 
th'  great  vengeance  was  very  near,  'gainst  th'  suitors  for 
despoyling  faire  Ithaqa  in  th'  long  absence  of  Odysseus, 
nor  need  he  fear  them,  altho'  their  heralds  lying  in  ambush 
awaited  his  ship's  appearance  to  take  his  life,  for  th'  gods 
were  watching  and  guarding  the  sonne  to  Odysseus;  no 
harm  should  befall.  Shee  also  bade  him  go  to  Eumaeus' 
dwelling  where  he  would  be  tolde  what  he  should  do. 

Acordingly,  on  the  morrowe  hee  bids  Menelaus  and 
sweete  Helen  farewell  and  the  Queene  presenteth  a  robe 
her  owne  hands  had  wrought  to  give  his  bride  on  the  day 
that  his  nuptialls  bee  celebrated,  asking  him  in  return  to 
have  [her]  in  his  kind  remembrance. 

From  Sparta  he  once  more  went  in  to  sandie  Pylos  and 
told  Nestor  and  others  what  he  would  do.  A  soothesayer 
(who  having  slayne  some  person  was  now  dreading  pur- 
suit) named  Theoclymenus  beggeth  Telemachus  to  have 
sufficient  kindnesse  to  take  him  upon  this  voyage  to  Ithaca. 

Setting  saile,  the  shores  of  his  native  land  were  in  due 
time  to  bee  discem'd;  at  last  they  are  gained  and  sending 
all  of  th'  company  to  the  city  he  alone  hasten'd  quickly  to 
find  olde  Eumaeus,  th'  herd. 

XVI. 

Great  was  the  joye  of  Eumaeus  beholding  him  for, 
noe  tidings  having  come  from  him,  Eumaeus  had  no 
hope  of  seeing  him  againe.  Inquiring  immediatelie  of  his 
friend  if  suters  are  yet  crowding  upon  th'  land  and  maki'g 


322  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OP  FRANCIS  BACON. 

themselves  lords  of  all,  "or  hath  my  mother,  accepting 
one  in  marriage,  left  Ulysses'  bridall  bed  to  become  th' 
possession  of  cobwebs,  for  lacke  of  other  or  proper  fur- 
niture?" 

But  his  kind  friend  eas'd  his  heart  by  telling  him  that 
th'  host  of  sutors  were  yet  kept  at  bay,  noble  Penelope 
being  consta't  in  her  hope  that  waiting  would  bee  re- 
warded by  fruition  o'  this  love.  After  a  time,  when  Tele- 
machus  perceiveth  a  stranger  there,  he  maketh  inquiry 
concerning  his  designes  and  porte,  saying  that  hee  feareth 
to  allowe  him  to  visit  his  father's  palace,  th'  sutors  having 
much  power  now,  might  treat  him  ill.  Whereupon  Odys- 
seus, vexed,  doth  himself e  put  in  a  word  and  say: 

"Ah,  these  suitors,  why  do  we  heare  of  them  no  matter 
where  we  go?  Do  ye  yield  to  them  willinglie  or  do  th' 
people  hate  thee,  O  Telemachus,  or  hast  thou  a  quarrel 
with  thy  kinsmen,  that  thou  hast  thus  suffer'd  them  to 
overrun  this  whole  country?" 

But  Telemachus  hasten'd  to  answere:  "I  have  no  feud 
with  my  kindred,  nor  doe  I  of  my  owne  free  will  yield  to 
th'  usurping  crowd,  but  they  have  swarm'd  in  upon  us 
like  bees;  and  what  would  you?  one  can  scarce  prevaile 
against  soe  manie." 

As  soone  as  Eumseus  was  gone  upon  a  commission  to 
th'  city,  Odysseus  saw  a  very  bright  figure  standing  before 
him  and  recognized  the  goddesse.  She  bade  him  prepare 
for  his  great  vengeance,  to  make  himself  known  to  Tele- 
■  machus,  and  proceede  to  his  palace.  Then  she  passed 
over  him  a  wande  which  changed  Ulysses'  figure  to  beau- 
tiful proportiones,  and  gave  his  cheekes  the  rosy  hue  they 
had  had  in  youth,  while  over  th'  rich  garments  hung  his 
long  lockes  yellow  as  gold. 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ODYSSES.  323 

Telemachus,  much  surprised,  asked  Ulysses:  ''Who  is 
this  standing  here  looking  like  to  one  of  the  bright  gods?" 
Then  Ulysses  embract  his  dear  sonne  and  wept  asseverating 
that  he  was,  verilie,  Ulysses. 

But  Telemachus  could  not  yet  trust  these  happy  Vords 
and  doubting  said:  "But  men  pass  not  thus  from  age  to 
youth,  from  weaknesse,  from  want,  povertie  or  squalor,  to 
riches  and  strength."  Ulysses  made  othe  that  it  was  Tele- 
machus' sire,  affirming,  "If  I  indeed  be  not  Ulysses,  none 
other  wiU  ever  come  to  the  coast  of  Ithaca." 

Noe  longer  might  Telemachus  doubt.  Embracing  his 
sire  he  lifted  his  voyce  and  together  they  lamented  like 
birds  from  which  th'  young  have  beene  stolen,  even  like 
vultures  or  eagles,  and  Ulysses  asked:  "How  many  are 
these  suitors  of  whom  all  speake?"  And  Telemachus 
made  answer:  "They  may  be  recko'd  by  scores  and  what 
could  two  doe  against  such  a  number?"  "If  Jove  and 
mighty  Minerva  lende  us  ayde  it  is  sufficient,"  said  Ulys- 
ses, "and  better  to  dye  fighting  for  our  right  than  to  yield 
weaklie." 

Th'  sutors  in  th'  meantime,  who  had  waited  in  ambush 
to  slay  the  prince  on  his  homeward  waye,  much  vex'd 
about  the  failure  of  all  their  subtile  designes,  returned  to 
Ithaca.  Penelope  thereupon  reproved  Antinous  who  was 
one  of  th'  number. 

Eumseus  came  to  report  his  experiences  at  evening, 
but  th'  stranger  was  againe  in  th'  guise  of  a  wand'ring 
beggar. 

XVII. 
When   morn   came   againe,   Telemachus   went   to   the 
home  of  Odysseus  and  shortlie  after  he  set  out,  his  sire 
intreated  Eumseus    to    permit  him  (Odysseus)  to  accom- 


824  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

pany  him  there.  On  th'  waye,  as  they  rest  by  the  side 
of  a  fountaine,  a  goatheard,  hight  Melanthius,  revil'd 
Odysseus  so€  much  that  with  utmost  difficulty  he  staled 
his  hand. 

Th^n  they  pass'd  onward  to  th'  citty  and  as  they  came 
to  the  pallace  gate  an  aged  hound  rose  to  greete  Ulysses 
but  falling  back  expired. 

Then  Odysseus  wept  saying:  "Was  this  a  comely  hound 
when  young,  swift  and  strong?" 

"Like  th'  wind  for  speed  and  nothing  ever  escap'd  him 
in  th'  chase"  said  Eumseus. 

Upon  entering  the  vast  hall  Odysseus  soliciting  an  alms 
of  Antinous  entreatingly  said:  "Thou  dost  have  the  ap- 
pearance of  gen'rous  royalty.  Give,  and  thou  shalt  winne 
great  fame,  for  Jove  shall  surelie  rewarde  thee  and  I  shall 
speake  of  thy  bounty  both  near  and  far."  Then  he  said 
he  also  had  great  abunda'ce  untill  Jove  tooke  away  his 
wealth  and  drove  him  to  ^gypt  and  to  Cyprus  where  hee 
suffer'd  ills  noe  tongue  might  tel.  But  Antinous  strucke 
him  on  the  backe  saying:  "Verily  thou  mayst  go  to  a 
Cyprus  or  to  an  ^gypt  thou  likest  not  if  thou  haste  not 
to  depart." 

But  th'  rest  who  stoode  looking  on  prayed  him  to 
beware,  reminding  him  that  immortall  gods  wander  ofte  i' 
lowly  guise.  Afterward  fii'  suitors  go  into  th'  hall  and 
Odysseus  dropping  his  walle'  beside  him  sate  in  th'  doore- 
waye. 

XVIII. 

Ere  long  a  publike  beggar,  named  by  th'  suters  Irus, 

since  he  was  ofte  a  messenger  emploied  by  them,  commeth, 

and  standing  to  begg,  joyes  to  see  Odysseus  in  a  like  or 

worse  condition,  for  miserie  wisheth  all  may  share  its 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ODYSSES.  325 

wronges;  and  after  a  little  time  hee  is  ill-pleas'd  that 
another  hath  sought  bounty  at  th'  pallace.  Soone  they  are 
bandying  wordes,  nexte  giving  challenge,  then  Irus  lieth 
prostrate,  felled  by  one  forcefull  blow  that  broke  the 
jawebone. 

Then  are  the  on-lookeres  dismaied  least  much  worse  ills 
lurke  behind,  for  Ulysses  then  in  a  loud  voyce  addressing 
Amphinomus  saith:  "Soone  th€  great  vengeance  must 
suddenly  come  and  low  in  th'  dust  thou  shalt  be  laid  by 
th'  hand  of  mightie  Ulysses,  when  he  comming  backe  to 
his  owne  kingdome  endeth  Jove's  impos'd  punishment, 
slayeth  the  greedie  chieftains  that  devoure  his  substance, 
striving  together  for  th'  faire  wife,  that  having  but  her 
serva'ts  as  guides  or  protecting  guard,  sufifer'd  much  by 
such  actions." 

But  Eurymachus  hearing  these  words,  anger'd  and 
insulted,  caste  a  stoole  that  overthrew  the  cup-beare'. 
Confusion  everywhere  ran  riot  and  at  last  they  withdrewe 
one  by  one  to  the  dwellings. 

XIX. 

Onelie  the  servants,  th'  attendants  of  his  pallace  are 
left  and  soone  Ulysses,  plotting  destruction  of  th'  multitude 
of  wrong-doing  idle  suitors,  alone,  broods  in  sadnesse. 
Then  commeth  Telemachus  to  aide,  Pallas  also  beeing 
with  him,  and  together  gath'ring  up  th'  armes  of  th' 
sutors,  Pallas  with  a  light  preceding  as  a  guide,  they  stor'd 
them  in  th'  innermost  chamber. 

As  Telemachus  sawe  th'  gleaming  pillars  he  said:  "My 
father,  surelie  one  of  th'  divine  gods  hath  enter'd  with  us. 
Beholde  th'  bright  fir-tree  columnes,  they  burne  as  with 
flame,  on  all  sides  pillers  shine  as  though  blazing  with 


826  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

celestiall  glory.  Truly  wonders  here  shew  on  everie 
hand."  But  rest  is  necessarie  now  and  Telemachus  is 
bidden  to  seeke  his  nightes  repose. 

Soone  Odysseus  returneth  in  silence  to  th'  hall,  yet 
meditati'g  th'  vengeance  he  would  take  upon  these  suters 
untill  late.  Penelope  then  apeareth,  seeming  as  Venus 
or  Diana  in  th'  fairenesse  and  beautie  of  moulde  and  th' 
grace  of  movement.  Shee  seateth  herself  e  beside  the  fire, 
bids  th'  servant  bring  Odysseus  to  sit  on  one  side,  inquir- 
ing whence  he  is,  also  who,  yet  he  tells  her  not.  With 
ease  hee  doth  narrate  a  tale  that  is  not  a  true  historic  of 
his  wanderings,  since  he  feareth  he  ma}^  bee  betray'd; 
shee  in  her  simple  heart  believeth  it,  and  telleth  how  her 
beauty  was  wasted  in  heavy  griefe  for  Ulysses,  as  he  sail'd 
away  to  Illium  to  avenge  fayre  Helen's  wicked,  shame- 
lesse  act;  she  tells  him  how  th'  suitors  harass'd  her,  and 
of  her  shrewde  device  in  order  to  gain  a  little  time,  saying 
to  them  shee  must  first  compleate  for  Laertes  the  woven 
mantle  she  had  yet  to  prepare  'gainst  his  buriall,  how  at 
eve  ravelling  out  all  she  had  done  in  th'  dale,  th'  suters 
were  made  to  thinke  her  labor  would  soone  be  done,  for 
seeing  her  diligence  in  th'  daytime,  noe  one  suppos'd  she 
was  making  no  progres.  For  more  then  three  whole 
yeares  did  this  ruse  availe,  but  in  th'  fourth  th'  suters 
learned  of  her  deceit  and  angrily  demanded  immediate 
response. 

But  though  inquiring  oft  of  his  former  surroundings, 
his  birth  etcsetera,  nothing  induc'd  him  to  open  his  storie 
to  her,  but  he  feign'd  to  her  constantlie.  After  long 
speeche  sitting  there  by  th'  cheerfuU  fire,  Penelope  sum- 
mon'd  th'  friendlie  old  servante,  Euryclea,  to  wash  his 
feete.     It  was  the  nurse  Odysseus  had  in  his  infancy,  and 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ODYSSES.  327 

hee  doth  attempte  to  tume  from  th'  fire  lest  she  might 
see  the  scar  that  was  made  by  the  boar's  tuske  when  he 
hunted  on  Parnassus  in  his  early  youth.  She  would  verily 
discover  anie  marke  and  tell  th'  household,  so  when  she 
speaks  saying  she  knowes  'tis  Odysseus,  her  child,  for  hee 
is  so  like  him  in  his  strong  handes  and  feete,  his  answer 
is  that  frequentlie  th'  peculia'  likenesse  had  beene  noted; 
but  when,  discovering  th'  scar,  she  exclaimeth  that  she 
doth  well  knowe  th'  wound  made  by  the  boar's  tuske,  for 
notwithstanding  it  was  throughlie  heal'd  by  Autolycus  it 
left  a  scarre,  Odysseus  in  alarm  catching  her  by  the  throat 
shouteth  angrily:  ''Silence,  woman,  or  thou  too  must 
fare  ill.  Commit  this  to  the  gods."  But  this  came  not 
to  Penelope's  eares,  th'  goddesse,  Minerva,  having  tum'd 
away  her  face. 

Then  the  nurse  in  haste  brought  more  water  and  bathed 
him,  for  the  other  had  beene  spilt,  when,  sitting  opposite 
Penelope  by  th'  fireside,  the  conversation  on  her  favourite 
or  sole  theme  was  taken  up  againe,  yet  Odysseus  taketh 
holde  o'  th'  olde  rags  and  keepeth  his  scarre  cover'd  from 
sight. 

XX. 

After  a  time  no  sound  is  heard  throughout  Ulysses' 
palace.  Pallas  appeareth  to  shewe  him  what  he  should 
do,  strength'ning  th'  heart  in  his  breast  by  her  wordes. 
At  first  it  doth  seeme  that  it  were  fitting  that  he  slay  th' 
unfaithfull  female  servants,  most  bitterly  feeling  a  want 
of  trust  in  his  household,  but  on  furder  consideration  he 
doth  think  well  to  wait. 

At  their  feast  later  the  suitors  put  a  deal  of  man  on 
his  Sonne,  arousing  soe  mightily  his  great  spiritt  that 
Theoclymenus  prophesieth  their  sudden  destruction.    They 


338  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OP  FRANCIS  BACON. 

turne  th'  prophecie  to  foolish  mockery,  and  laugh  th'  seer 
to  scome. 

XXI. 

Penelope  coming  unto  the  suitors,  declareth  no  man 
can  have  her  to  wife  that  cannot  draw  th'  mighty  bowe 
of  Odysseus.  "Hee  that  is  strong  like  to  Ulyses  shall  lead 
me  away  to  a  new  home,  yet  of  this  shall  a  dream  abide 
still." 

Great  is  their  consternation.  Antinous  wil  not  handle 
the  Aveapon,  fully  co'vinc'd  hee  hath  not  abilitie  to  draw 
or  even,  verilie,  bend  slightlie  th'  bowe  of  Odysseus;  but 
Eurymachus  doth  take  holde  on  it,  and  warm  it,  attempt- 
ing to  make  it  to  some  degree  pliant,  and  saith:  "Not 
that  I  greatly  desire  to  marrie  Ulysses'  wife,  for  many 
others  are  fairer  in  Achaia;  not  Ithaca  onelie  but  manie 
a  citty  hath  fairer  dames.  It  is  not  that,  yet  should  I 
sorrowe,  for  'twould  be  disgrace  to  us  if  posterity  should 
hear  that  we  could  not  even  bend  th'  bowe  of  great 
Ulyses." 

Antinous  doth  persuade  his  minde  so  that  hee,  desist- 
ing, laies  th'  bow  aside.  Then  they  pour  out  wine  offering 
a  libation  that  Apollo,  appeased,  should  lende  his  aide. 
Then  the  old  stranger  cometh  as  if  it  would  be  possible, 
by  any  meanes,  in  his  age  to  compete  with  such  men,  but 
Antinous,  scornfullie  doth  withhold  the  bowe  taunting 
him  with  ill-grace.  However  his  winged  wordes  are  cut 
short  by  Penelope,  and  reproving  him  for  his  discourtesy 
to  their  guest  shee  saith  to  him:  "Doe  not  fear  least  th' 
stranger,  if  successefull,  should  lead  me  awaie,  for  if  he 
can  drawe  the  strong  bowe,  a  new  coat  or  tunick  shall  be 
awarded  him." 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ODYSSES.  329 

But  at  this  her  sonne,  Telemachus,  maketh  reply: 
■"  'Twere  well  if  it  be  left  for  mee  to  make  proof e,  as 
might  appear  to  mee  best,  of  all  that  wish,  or  that  I 
deem  worthie  of  th'  honour  of  contending."  Thereupon 
the  strife  was  subdued  for  a  little  while  and  Ulysses  said: 
''Ye  may  very  well  leave  it  unto  the  gods." 

Meantime  he  had  reveal'd  hi'selfe  to  th'  oxheard, 
Philsetius.  With  manie  tears  he  had  given  a  pledge  to 
aide  Odysseus,  the  swineheard  seconding  him,  consequent- 
lie  it  was  arrang'd  to  have  Eumseus  carry  the  weapon  to 
Ulysses  and  place  it  in  his  aged  and  weakly  hand. 

As  the  bowe  was  handed  to  him,  he  first  adjusted  the 
string  as  lightly  and  deftly  as  a  musitian  doth  tune  his 
slacken'd  harpe,  and,  lifting  it,  sped  a  shaft  through  th' 
ring. 

XXII. 

Soone  th'  arrowe  was  aimed  toward  Antinous — ^the 
young  chieftaine  lay  prone.  Another  and  anothe'  were 
sent  swiftlie  forth,  and  the  wounded,  dead  or  dying  lay 
in  heapes,  and  gore  ran  in  rivers  on  th'  floore.  A  with- 
drawal was  impossibl'  because  order  to  bar  the  entrance 
was  given,  before  th'  deadly  strife,  which  Euryclea  had 
done,  th'  gate  being  bound  up  with  tackle. 

Ulysses  havi'g  exhausted  his  quiver,  plact  a  helmet 
upon  his  bare  head,  snatch'd  shield  and  speare,  and  stood 
forth  a  bold  hero  to  menace  th'  throng.  But  he  sawe 
that  opposite  him  were  arrai'd  sev'ral  of  th'  sutors  arm'd 
with  shields,  spears,  terrorising  helmets  with  long  noddi'g 
plumes,  and  whatever  appertaineth  to  a  Avarriour.  As 
they  continuallie  presse  furde'  forwards,  Ulysses  noteth 
that  they  get  th'  armes  from  some  of  Odysseus'  proper 
household. 


880  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Caling  Telemachus  he  maketh  inquirie  regarding  it. 
The  latter,  fearing  it  may  be  by  his  owne  fault,  in  leaving 
ajar  a  door  to  the  inner  roome  where  the  sutors'  armes 
were  concealed,  doth  waite  untill  he  seeth  Melanthius 
supply  others  with  shining  speares,  and  helmets  with  nod- 
ding plumes.  Then  he  fals  on  th'  knave,  and  with  th' 
ayde  of  Eumseus,  hoisteth  him  on  high  and  biddeth  him 
keep  watch  from  that  airie  hammocke. 

Then  Pallas  came  to  them  in  the  guise  of  wise  Mentor, 
and  both  Ulysses  and  the  sutors  hoped  for  ayde,  the  latter 
saying  to  him  that  hee  should  aby  it  dear  if  he  did  not 
joyne  them.  Ulysses  hoping  it  was  to  be  shewne  that  he 
was  assisted  by  the  heavenly  divinities,  and  also  that  this 
would  prove  to  be  Minerva,  felt  his  heart  throb  gladly, 
but  the  voyce  said  in  stern  tones:  "Odysseus,  where  is 
now  thy  strength,  as  when  at  wide^way'd  Troy  thou  didst 
hew  down  soe  many  Trojans?  and  it  was  by  thy  wisdome 
that  th'  cittie  was  overthrowne.  Rise  now  in  thy  might 
and  shewe  an  invincible  spirit." 

Without  giving  assistance  either  to  one  or  the  other, 
Minerva  rose  to  th'  roofe,  and  sitting  high  in  aire  watcht 
th'  progresse  of  the  conflicte,  sometimes  however  guiding 
th'  weapons  lest  they  might  too  sorely  buffet  Odysseus  or 
his  friends.  But  when  th'  combat  had  lasted  some  time, 
Telemachus  being  wounded  in  th'  wrist  and  Eumaeus  in 
the  shoulder,  she  lifted  her  ^Egide  shield,  and  the  suitors 
in  dismay  were  sodainelie  vanquisht. 

Next  Odysseus,  sending  messages  to  manie  parts  of 
the  pallace,  gave  strict  command  that  the  slaine  bee 
remov'd,  th'  whole  place  cleans'd  and  purged,  and  th' 
unchaste  servants  of  his  household  imprisoned  where 
none  could  attempte  reskewe. 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  ODYSSES.  331 

Hastily  obeying  these  commands,  his  servants  soone 
made  all  most  faire,  for  Ulysses'  retume  rejoyc'd  th' 
faithfuU  attendants  of  Penelope.  Not  yet  did  shee  her- 
self e  even  know  of  Ulysses'  presence;  however  Euryclea 
shortlie  went  to  tell  her  the  glad  tidings,  for  Minerva 
would  that  she  be  k6pt  secluded  untill  all  was  prepared. 

XXIII. 

•  After  she  had  ent'red,  for  a  long  time  she  kept  silence, 
in  her  hart  doubting  that  this  stranger  who  had  perform'd 
these  wonderfull  deedes  might  be  some  other  then  her 
long-absente,  well-beloved  lord.  But  when  she  gave 
directio's  for  the  preparation  at  once  of  the  bridal  couch, 
saying:  ^TLet  it  be  plact  outside  th'  chamber,"  and 
Odysseus  spake  in  quick  tones  making  inquiry:  "Where 
then  have  you  plact  the  bed  my  hands  did  fashion,  when 
round  the  venerable  tree  in  this  court  o'  my  pallace  I 
contriv'd  our  curiously  wrought  bridall  chamber?  There 
I  put  th'  massive  couch,  so  heavy  with  gold  and  silver, 
fayre  ivory  as  well, — 'twere  a  sinew'd  man  could  lifte 
from  its  place  a  bed  like  that, — and  over  it  I  cast  a 
purple  bul's-hide  very  richly  dyed,"  she  knewe  it  was 
indeed  Odysseus  and  running  up  fell  on  his  necke. 

Soone  hee  related  the  story  of  his  reall  adventures  and 
felt  a  new  thankfulnes  for  th'  help  vouchsaf'd  to  him, 
but  realized  that  no  true  abiding  place  was  there  for  his 
feete. 

On  the  following  day  Ulysses  with  Telemachus, 
Eumseus  and  Philtetus  armed  in  shining  brasse  set  out 
to  visit  Laertes.  It  was  already  light  ere  they  could  go 
forth,  but  Minerva  cover'd  them  from  sight  with  a  misty 
cloud. 


382  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

XXIV.  , 

Th'  last  booke  containeth  an  account  of  Mercury's 
descent  into  Hades  with  th'  soules  of  th'  slaughtered 
suitors. 

Thereafter  an  uprising  amongst  th'  friends  of  th'  latter 
made  an  insurrection,  which  was  quell'd  bj  the  inter- 
ventio',  at  th'  decisive  momente,  of  watchfull  Minerva. 
Eupeithes  who  was  their  leader  being  slaine,  she  warned 
Ulysses,  lest  he  anger  Jove,  it  would  be  well  to  cease, 
and  gave  the  pledge  or  othe  upon  both  sides,  likened  in 
form  and  in  voyce,  as  at  a  former  time,  to  Mentor. 

This  doth  conclude  this  part  of  the  worke. 

Next  th'  opening  lines  will  bee  found,  and  keiewords 
which  are  your  aides  in  joining  th'  parts  of  our  Epick. 
The  verses  foUowe  here: 

"Sing,  sing  to  me  O  Muse,  of  one  to  whom 

Some  rare  expedient  was  never  wanting, 

Who,  when  proud  Eium  he  had  orethrowne, 

Wander'd  afarre  that  he  in  many  lands 

Might  see  faire  citties  and  observe  the  wayes 

Of  distant  countries:  yet  to  him  there  came 

Much  heavie  suffering  in  that  strong  minde 

Devising  meanes  himselfe  and  mates  to  save. 

Infatuate  men!    little  indeed  wot  they. 

Ere  Helios'  fair  herde  was  rashlie  slaughter'd. 

No  man  could  shielde  them,  nor  would  ere  again 

Return  to  their  faire  land  bring  joy  and  rest. 

O  thou  faire  goddesse,  from  high  Jove  sprung  forth, 

Sing  of  these  sorrowes!" 


ARGUMENT  OP  THE  ODYSSBS.  33? 

No  more  of  our  Odysses  is  given  here  excepting,  of  a 
truth,  our  numerous  keyes,  and  these  are  oft  simile,  as 
noe  doubt  you  will  note,  to  manie  that  are  alreadie  used 
in  th'  Iliads;  but  no  confusion  can  arise,  as  th'  words 
which  joine  the  portions  are  sufficient.  These  I  name 
simplie  joining-words,  as  such  use  must  bee  made  of  them 
as  a  builder  maketh  of  th'  markes  that  are  frequentlie 
noted  on  timbers  and  stones  that  th'  farre-seeing  planner 
doth  already,  to  his  mindes  eye,  picture,  fitted  into  a 
structure  Time  itselfe  can  little  alter. 

Key-wordes  follow:  first,  the  heavenly  beings, — ^god- 
desses, gods  and  spirites,  demy-gods  or  heroes;  th'  ruler 
or  god  that  controles  th'  ocean,  Poseidon,  with  the  whole 
traine  of  sea-gods,  nymphes,  and  attenda'ts;  the  god  of 
th'  underworld,  Pluto,  with  every  spirit  of  that  realme; 
Olympus,  Ida,  Pergamos,  Hellespontus,  Troy,  Trojans, 
Grecians,  Thrace,  siege,  battaile,  flight,  vessels,  tempest, 
wrack,  haven,  rocks,  Calypso,  immortality,  Penelope, 
Telemachus,  Sparta,  Hellen,  Menelaus,  Nestor,  sage,. 
Theoclymenus,  Argos,  murther,  ambuscade,  swineheard, 
adventures,  Eumaeus,  ship,  Phaeacian  sailors,  present,. 
Nausicaa,  Alcinous,  Arete,  Cicones,  Cyclops,  Cimmerii,^ 
winds,  Circe,  sorceresse,  Ulysses,  mates,  enchantment, 
swine,  Teiresias,  Scylla,  Charybdis,  isle,  Siren,  Helios^ 
cattel,  perill,  Ithica,  suitors,  web,  bowe,  stranger,  ven- 
geance, servantes,  Laertes,  insurrection,  conquest,  oathe. 
Mentor,  voyce  and  forme. 

FRANCISCI,  BARONIS  DE  VERULAMIO, 

Vice-Comitis  Sancti  Albani. 

De  Dignitate  et  Augmentis  Scientiarum  is  ended. 


FEANCIS  baco:n'. 

NEW  ATLANTIS. 
1635. 

I  am  named  in  th'  world,  not  what  my  stile  should  bee 
according  to  birth,  nor  what  it  rightfnllie  should  be  accord- 
ing to  our  law,  which  giveth  to  the  first-borne  o'  th'  royall 
house,  (if  this  first-borne  be  a  sonne  o'  th'  ruling  prince, 
and  borne  in  true  and  right  wedlocke)  th'  title  of  th'  Prince 
o'  Wales.  My  name  is  Tidder,  yet  men  speak  of  me  as 
Bacon,  even  those  that  know^  of  my  royal  mother,  and  her 
lawf  uU  marriage  with  th'  Earle  o'  Leicester,  a  suitable  time 
prior  to  my  birth. 

Queenes  are  not  like  common  folk.     They  often  con- 
trole  opinions  as  well  as  their  estates,  and  Elizabeth's  strong 
will  was  not  one  that  could  be  resisted.     Her  policy  made 
Parliament  and  her  Privy-Counsel  each  suppose,  not  onely 
that  their  wisedome  did  soe  govern  England,  but  that  she 
herself  was,  (in  a  degree  truly  wondrous  for  a  descendant 
o'  th'  line  o'  kings,  like  th'  royall  sire  and  grandsire  o' 
famous  memory)  control'd  by  advisement  of  th'  men  that 
compose  these  bodies.     N^o  doubt  they  did  not  lack  occa- 
sion at  one  time  and  another  to  modify  this  notion,  yet  her 
witt  was  seldome  unequall  to  occasion,  while  a  perplexitie 
rather  sharpen'd  then  dull'd,  and  actuall  danger  made  as  a 
two-edged  sword.     Thus  men  were  often  dazzled  by  the 
sword,  and  not  many  that  used  this  edg'd  weapon  escaped 
without  deepe  scarres.     My  hands — aye,  my  head  as  well, 
more  then  all,  my  heart — are  sorelie  wounded;  for  in  a 
breath,  my  royall  mother  disclos'd  our  relationship  and 

334 


NEW  ATLANTIS.  335 

cursed  mj  nativity:  nor  could  I,  in  the  numerous  subse- 
quent encou'ters,  change  her  hasty  decisio'  upon  that  very 
important  question  of  th'  succession.  'Tis  said :  "The  curse 
that  was  not  deserv'd  never  will  come."  Some  may  finde 
it  true,  but  to  me  a  causelesse  curse  did  surely  come,  and 
my  entire  life  felt  th'  blighte. 

Xeverthelesse,  to  Robert  Cecil  I  owe  much  o'  this  secret, 
underhand,  yet  constant  opposition:  for  from  th'  first  hee 
was  th'  spy,  th'  informer  to  th'  Queene,  of  all  the  boyish 
acts  of  which  I  had  least  cause  or  reason  for  any  pride. 
This  added  fuel  to  the  flame  of  her  wrath,  made  me  the 
more  indiscreete,  and  precipitated  an  open  disagrement, 
which  lasted  for  some  time,  'tweene  my  foster-mother, 
Lady  Anne  Bacon,  and  the  woman  who  bore  me,  whom 
however  I  seldom  name  with  a  title  so  sacred  as  mother. 
In  truth,  Cecil  work'd  me  nought  save  evill  to  th'  daie 
which  took  him  out  o'  this  world. 

Through  his  vilde  influence  on  Elizabeth,  hee  fill'd  her 
minde  with  a  suspition  of  my  desire  to  rule  th'  whole- 
world,  beginning  with  England,  and  that  my  plann  was 
like  Absalom's,  to  steale  th'  hearts  of  the  l^ation  and  move 
th'  people  to  desire  a  king.  He  told  her  that  my  every 
thought  dwelt  on  a  crowne;  that  my  onelie  sport  amid  my 
school-mates  was  a  pageant  of  royalty;  that  'twas  my  hand 
in  which  th'  wooden  stafFe  was  plact,  and  my  head  that 
wore  th'  crowne,  for  no  other  would  be  allowed  to  repre- 
sent princes  or  their  pompe.  He  inform'd  Her  Ma.  that 
I  would  give  a  challenge  to  a  fierce  boyish  fight,  or  a 
duello  of  fists,  if.  any  one  presum'd  to  share  my  honours 
or  depose  me  from  my  throne. 

In  due  time  th'  Queene,  afraide  of  these  ominous  por- 
tents, sent  for  good  Paulet  and  arranged  that  under  pre- 


336  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

texte  of  great  importe,  I  should  accompany  our  ambassage 
to  France.  I  was  plact  in  th'  care  of  Sir  Amyias  and  left 
th'  shores  of  my  own  f  aire  land  without  a  moment  of  warn- 
ing, 806  to  speak.  Th'  Queene  by  her  [power]  royall,  and 
her  rights  matemall,  readily  overrul'd  all  our  several  objec- 
tions. No  teares  on  part  o'  my  dear  foster-mother,  nor 
entreaties  o'  that  o'  grave  Sir  N.  Bacon  avail'd,  while  I, 
as  soone  as  my  first  protest  had  been  waived,  occupied  my 
fantasy  houre  after  houre,  picturing  to  myselfe  th'  life  in 
forraine  lands. 

Th'  fame  of  th'  gay  French  Court  had  come  to  me  even 
then,  and  it  was  flattering  to  th'  youthfuU  and  most  natural! 
love  o'  th'  affaires  taking  us  from  my  native  land,  inasmuch 
as  th'  secret  commission  had  been  entrusted  to  me,  which 
required  much  true  wisdome  for  safer,  speedier  conduct 
then  'twould  have  if  left  to  th'  common  course  o'  businesse. 
Soe  with  much  interessed,  though  sometimes  apprehensive 
minde,  I  made  myselfe  ready  to  accompanie  Sir  Amyias 
to  that  sunny  land  o'  th'  South  I  learn'd  soe  supremely  to 
love,  that  afterwards  I  would  have  left  England  and  every 
hope  o'  advancement  to  remain  my  whole  life  there.  Nor 
yet  could  this  be  due  to  th'  delights  of  th'  country,  hj 
itselfe,  for  love  o'  sweete  Marguerite,  th'  beautifull  young 
sister  o'  th'  king  (married  to  gallant  Henri  th'  King  o' 
Navarre)  did  make  it  Eden  to  my  innocent  heart,  and  even 
when  I  learn'd  her  perfidie,  love  did  keepe  her  like  th' 
angels  in  my  thoughts  half  o'  th'  time — as  to  th'  other  half 
she  was  devilish,  and  I  myselfe  was  plung'd  into  hell.  This 
lasted  duri'g  many  yeares,  and,  not  untill  four  decades  or 
eight  lustres  o'  life  were  outliv'd,  did  I  take  any  other  to- 
my  sore  heart.  Then  I  married  th'  woman  who  hath  put 
Marguerite  from  my  memorie — rather,  I  should  say,  hath 


NEW  ATLANTIS.  337 

banisht  her  portrait  to  th'  walles  of  memorie,  onely,  where 
it  doth  hang  in  th'  pure,  undimmed  beauty  of  those  early 
dayes — while  her  most  lovelie  presence  doth  possesse  this 
entire  mansion,  of  heart  and  braine. 

Yet  here  I  have  a  little  digress'd,  although  the  matter 
doth  appertaine  unto  my  story  at  a  later  period.  When 
Sir  Amyias  Paulet  became  avised  of  my  love,  he  propos'd 
that  he  should  negotiate  a  treaty  of  marriage,  and  appro- 
priately urge  on  her  pending  case  o'  the  divorce  from  the 
young  Huguenot;  but  for  reasons  of  very  grave  importance 
these  buds  of  an  early  marriage  never  open'd  into  flower. 
But  the  future  race  will  profit  by  th'  failure  in  the  field  of 
love,  for  in  those  flitting  dales  afterward,  having  resolv'd 
to  cover  every  marke  of  defeate  with  th'  triumphs  o'  my 
minde,  I  did  thoroughly  banish  my  tende'  love  dreams  to 
th'  regions  o'  clouds  as  unreall,  and  let  my  works  of  vari- 
ous kinds  absorb  my  minde.  It  is  thus  by  my  disappoint- 
ments that  I  do  secure  to  many,  fruition. 

Those  whose  chief  desire  is  Scientia  will  rejoyce  in  my 
experiments  in  J^aturall  Sciences,  for  they  have  greatly 
increas'd  the  knowledge  which  was  in  th'  world.  Some- 
thing have  my  labours  done  for  other  claimants,  and  Phil- 
osophic and  th'  Arts  have  gained  by  no  meanes  slightly  by 
my  labour,  for  I  took  no  respite  for  yeares.  It  is  to  make 
ray  decypherer  industrious  I  urge  this  upon  the  attention 
soe  frequently.  I  have  learn'd  well  how  much  a  wise  use 
of  time  saveth,  and  I  wish  most  deeply  to  stampe  my  pre- 
cepts upon  th'  minde,  at  th'  very  earliest  opportunitie  and 
upon  my  latest  appearance,  as  a  guide  in  th'  labirinth  of 
Cyphers. 

It  is  to  this  husbandry — this  guarding  'gainst  losse  that 
I  do  owe  a  large — aye  th*  greater  portion  o'  this  work  in 


338  BI-LITBRAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Cypher.  When  a  care  of  the  minutes  hath  been  learnt — a 
care  almost  miserlie,  in  truth — his  next  taske,  quite  simi- 
lar, is  that  of  holding  to  it  faithfullie.  This  work  perhaps 
more  then  any  other  which  is  knowne  to  mankind  needeth 
continuance.  As  in  a  race  he  that  hath  greatest  endurance 
doth  come  out  before  him  of  greatest  .speede,  so  here,  like- 
wise, hee  who  can  long  f  ollowe  this  Cipher  is  sure  to  winne 
an  easy  triumphe  over  him  that  soone  tireth  and  leaveth 
the  course. 

It  was  necessarie  to  be  wary:  wee  have  spoken  little 
therefore  in  anie  single  place,  eyther  of  the  subjects  that 
are  fully  .treated  in  the  Cyphers  or  the  rules  for  their  easy 
unfolding:  indeed  a  man  of  wit  shall  finde  our  stories  and 
plays  before  he  doth  see  the  rules  and  arguments,  if  he  be 
not  a  patient  man,  or  especially  if  bird-witted — flying  on 
swiftest  pinions  and  never  resting  upon  the  leafie  boughs 
longer  then  until  he  finde  one  olive  leafe;  but  when  his 
waie  becometh  difiicile  he  hath  but  weake  aides,  if  he  finde 
not  the  diverse  arguments  which  I  put  in  many  places  in 
the  Bi-literall  and  Clocke  Ciphers. 

Labour,  I  doe  entreate  thee,  with  all  dilligence  to  draw 
forth  th'  numerous  rules  for  use  in  writing  out  these  secret 
workes.  It  is  now  the  onely  desire  that  hath  likelihood  of 
grand  fulfillment,  but  so  great  is  our  faith  that  posterity 
shall  give  honour  unto  our  name,  here  and  in  the  distant 
lands  beyond  th'  seas,  our  efforts  are,  as  it  might  be  said,  • 
tirelesse  and  unceasing  to  carry  out  even  the  least  portions 
of  our  marvellous  work  to  perfection. 

Unto  God  do  we  lift  up  our  soules  imploring  of  Him 
aide,  blessing,  and  light  for  the  illumination  o'  the  workes 
which  wee  leave. 


FKANCIS  BACON. 

SYLVA  SYLVARUM;    OR   NATURAL   HISTORY. 

RAWLEY'S  PREFACE.  > 

1635. 

niy  his  lordship's  works  succeed  when  he  is  dead,  for 
the  Cypher  left  ijico'plete  I  have  now  finished.  As  you 
must  note,  th'  Court  papers  told  the  world  no  secrets,  yet 
I  have  stumblingly  proceeded  with  it  and  unwitti'gly  used 
eome  letters  wro'gly  as  B,  I,  L,  M,  IST,  P,  S  and  Z. 

When,  however,  you  find  this  change  in  the  eighth 
Centurie  where  I  beganne  th'  worke,  you  shall  pause 
awhile,  then  use  the  alphabet  as  it  is  heerein  employ'd  and 
as  explain'd  in  my  preceding  epistle.  It  will  thus  be  like 
a  new  kind  of  alphabet  and  doubtlesse  will  bee  trouble- 
some, yet  can  bee  conn'd  while  some  had  to  be  discover'd; 
but  in  respect  of  a  probable  familiaritie  with  th'  worke,  and 
the  severall  diverse  methods  employed  oft  by  his  lordship, 
this  may  by  no  meanes  be  requir'd,  since  th'  wit  that  could 
penetrate  such  mysteries  surely  needeth  no  setti'g  forth  and 
enlarging  of  mine. 

Ere  the  whole  question  be  dropt,  however,  let  me  bid 
you  go  on  to  my  larger  and  fully  arranged  table  where  th' 
storie,  or  epistle,  is  finish'd  as  it  should  have  beene  had  his 
lordship  lived  to  compleat  it,  since  my  part  was  but  that  of 
th'  hand,  and  I  did  write  only  that  portion  which  was  not 
us'd  at  th'  time.  All  this  was  duely  composed  and  written 
out  by  his  hand,  and  may  bee  cherish'd. 

339 


340  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON- 

From  his  penne,  too,  works  which  now  bear  th'  name 
Burton — containing  in  them  th'  symboll,  word,  bi-literall^ 
clocke,  and  severall  anagramme  Ciphers  put  forth — make 
useful  those  portions  which  could  by  noe  means  bee 
adapted  to  dramaticall  writings.  If  you  doe  not  use  them 
as  you  decypher  th'  interiour  epistles,  so  conceal'd,  your 
story  shall  not  be  compleat. 

Th'  workes  are  in  three  divisio's  entitled,  Melancholy,. 
Its  Anatomy,  Additions  to  this  booke  have  beene  by  direc- 
tion of  Lord  Yerullam,  himself e,  often  by  his  hand,  whilst 
th'  interiour  letter,  carried  in  a  number  of  ingenious 
Cyphers  mentioned  above,  is  from  his  pen,  and  is  the  same 
in  every  case  that  he  would  have  used  in  these  workes,  for 
his  is,  in  verie  truth,  worke  cut  short  by  th'  sickel  of  Death. 

Turn  next  as  instru'ted  to  my  co'pleate  table  of  the 
matter  treated,  or  experiments  set  downe,  and  carry  the 
s'cret  story  to  its  conclusio'.  This  doth  followe  directly 
upon  the  body  of  the  worke  as  it  should,  had  it  beene  in- 
corporate with  it. 

WILLIAM  RAWLEY. 


TEANCIS  BACOX. 

NATURAL  HISTORY. 
1635. 

Every  worke  contains  portions  of  my  Cypher  history: 
many  that  have  great  matters  o'  which  no  suspicion  should 
be  rais'd  while  I  live,  are  written  in  the  Latine,  and  are 
the  lesse  likely  to  be  prematurelie  found;  for  I  doe  not 
write  these  in  expectation  or  desire  of  rousing  such  atten- 
tion as  shall  jeopardize  the  story  (hid  much  as  our  rules 
and  sundry  directions  are  hidden,  onely  not  so  oft  repeated, 
for  the  readie  eie  o'  my  closest  reader)  built  out  of  some 
stories  great  poetes  have  writ,  or  sung,  that  I  tum'd  into 
the  best  English  of  my  day,  to  use  in  my  Cypher. 

Finding  that  one  important  story  within  manie  others 
produc'd  a  most  ordinarie  play,  poem,  history,  essay,  law- 
maxime,  or  other  kind,  class,  or  description  of  work,  I 
tried  th'  experiment  of  placing  my  tra'slations  of  Homer 
and  Virgil  within  my  other  Cypher.  When  one  work  has 
been  so  incorporated  into  others,  these  are  then  in  like 
manner  treated,  separated  into  parts  and  widely  scatter'd 
into  my  numerous  books.  When  th'  task  has  been  com- 
pleated,  and  this  little  Ciphe'  (thus  contrived  to  ayde  you 
in  the  writing)  put  into  place,  it  is  ready  for  the  pub- 
lishing. 

Seeke  it  out  by  carefull  attentio'  to  the  simple  rules 
which  pointe  your  course:  directions  shewe  each  part  of 
the  worke  so  fully,  (my  designe  is  so  farre  worked  out  in 
such  other  accompanying  Cyphers  as  best  will  teach  this 
invention)  that  the  unfolding  doth  seem  like  as  it  were 

841 


342  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

o'  itselfe.  Indeed  you  may  write  meerelie  as  the  hired 
assista't  whose  worke  is  that  of  a  man's  hand,  or  penne, 
not  of  his  thought,  braine,  or  minde,  inasmuch  as  my 
thought  has  inform'd  every  portion,  as  the  minde  doth  the 
bodie. 

At  no  time  shal  your  appearance  in  mine  emploie  bee 
deem'd  anie  otherwise  then  that  of  an  amanuensis,  yet, 
sir,  all  dues  of  honour  shal  be  yours,  in  this  and  the  com- 
ing ages,  since  it  is  wholly  by  this  meanes  that  the  greatest 
things  of  this  age  can  be  revealed.  Much  doth  it  behoove 
everie  man  to  be  wise,  prudent,  and  of  great  care  to  avoid 
the  obloquy  the  vulgar  are  ever  likelie  to  cast  on  anyone 
more  fortunate  then  themselves;  thus  I,  constantly  heed- 
ing this,  have  kept  the  secret  of  my  birth  many  years 
longer  than  was  absolutely  necessary,  lest  seeking  to  ac- 
quire that  which,  while  most  truly  my  right,  beeing  settled 
by  my  royall  mother  upon  my  cousin,  could  not  well  be 
reclaimed,  I  might  loose  thereby  many  worthie  honours  I 
had  wonne  by  labor  as  fruitfull  and  widely  scattered,  in- 
deed, as  any  workes  of  Nature. 

This  however  is  told  in  full;  I  do  but  make  mention  of 
it  here.  Seeke  it  out  if  you  have  not  alreadie  found  it, 
and  make  a  full  historic  of  my  owne  life  and  times.  The 
men  who  live  in  the  world  will  much  valew  a  worke  so 
hidden  and  preserv'd  when  I  shall  be  no  more  a  living 
historian  and  .philosopher,  since  all  should  seeme  to  em- 
bodie  my  invention,  and  to  be  the  sound  of  my  long 
unheard  voyce,  which  speaks  to  them  in  tones  well  remem- 
ber'd. 

Yet  must  I  owe  to  you  the  favo'  of  making  this  voyce 
sound  the  sweet  music  o'  song.  I  can  but  frame  the  verses 
for  yoyr  penne,  and  leave  a  work  of  Time  unto  Time's 


NATURAL  HISTORY.  343 

mastery.  Yotir  dutie  although  somewhat  dull  is  of  so 
great  importancy,  I  am  assured  that  it  doth  requite  the 
pains,  but  my  great  fear  is  lest  a  wearinesse  overcome  you 
ere  this  Cypher,  or  the  Word  Cypher  may  be  fully  work'd 
out.  Doe  me  not  so  meane  a  service  as  leaving  this  work 
unfinished,  I  do  entreate  you.  Make  it  my  monument  to 
marke  the  end  of  labour  for  my  f ellowe-men, — principallie 
the  advancement  and  dissemination  of  knowledge,  yet 
much  for  th'  pleasing  of  men's  mindes,  while  setting  forth" 
my  other  history, — for  I  give  you  my  assurance  that  the 
worke  is  worthy  o'  preservacion. 

One  must  give  as  greg,t  a  portion  o'  time  as  seven  dales 
in  the  weeke  can  furnish,  and  must  not  use  many  houres 
for  recreation,  would  he  leave  ought  o'  any  value  to  men, 
for  life  is  so  short.  It  is  for  this  cause  that  I  use  my  time 
so  miser-like,  never  spending  a  moment  idly,  when  in 
health.  Oft  my  table  seemes  to  me  as  a  study,  and  I  too 
frequently  invite  my  friends  when  my  minde  seemes  more 
upon  my  worke  then  my  guests;  yet  do  I  accompt  my  repu- 
tation as  an  host  not  of  the  worse,  inasmuch  as  I  do  con- 
verse with  great  ease,  and  (as  hath  beene  said)  with  so 
much  spiritt  and  wit  that  none  know  or  imagine  my  absorp- 
tion. Many  times  have  I  thus  made  the  plot  of  a  story  in 
minde  while  great  lords  sat  at  the  table,  follow'd  many  of 
my  experimentes  to  indisputable  conclusions,  or  contrived 
a  newe  Cipher. 

You  will  observe  a  rule  by  which  I  separated  the  parts 
or  divisions;  this  rule  will,  per  contra,  put  them  together 
in  the  originall  order.  Thus,  when  the  keyes  are  found, 
take  a  part  of  that  for  your  story,  then  follow  the  same 
key  until  some  o'  th'  widely  open  doores  be  entered,  and 
some  idea  bee  form'd  of  the  method  of  th'  hidden  Cyphe'. 


814        '     BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Follow  this  to  its  inner  folio,  nor  unbende  until  the  whole 
of  my  Cipher  historie  be  written. 

It  is  behoovefuU,  as  indeed  wee  know,  that  none  o'  this 
worke  attract  attention  while  I  remaine  here,  and  for 
another  quite  manifesto  reaso'  th'  Cyphers  are  not  as  justly 
work'd  out  i'  my  later  and  larger  bookes  as  I  had  intended 
to  do,  for  lacke  of  time  is  something  no  man  could  over- 
come.    Surely  my  hand  and  braine  have  but  short  rest. 

'  I  firmly  beleeve  it  were  not  in  th'  power  of  humane  beings 
to  do  anie  more  then  I  have  done,  yet  I  am  but  partlie 
satisfied. 

The  chief  e  wish  I  now  have  is  to  continue  my  rightfull, 
humble,  yet  truly  worthy  workes  for  my  toyling  fellowes, 
who  wrestle  in  blind  helplessness  with  th'  forces  of  Nature. 

,  We  that  know  the  manifold  mightie  influences  of  unseen 
things,  owe  more  of  this  knowledge  of  our  environiiigs  to 
the  light  from  our  Celestiall  Source  then  to  our  investiga- 
tions. Therin  lieth  the  duty  we  owe  to  our  fellowe-men, 
for  do  not  our  Scriptures  say:  Freely  ye  have  received, 
so  must  ye  in  like  manner  give?  This  then  doth  urge  me 
ever  on,  up  to  heights  of  knowledge  that  no  one  hath  ever 
reached. 

Make  a  table,  as  hath  beene  alreadie  said,  putting  therin 
the  names  that  I  have  taken  in  the  worke,  and  also  mark 
that  each  doth  represent  one  of  my  numerous  penne  names. 
When  a  word  has  many  times  been  used,  making  what  you 
would  thinke,  many  times,  very  uselesse  and  questionable 
averments,  you  will  tume  to  your  small  table,  and  finding 
it  has  beene  put  upon  it,  you  begin  a  course  or  hunt  for 
certaine  other  words, — keies  I  have  named  them, — but 
keepe  the  same  catche,  or  guide-words  from  place  to  place. 
A  small  tilda,  or  mark  of  this  kinde  is  used,  sometimes,  to 
catch  your  attention,  and  ayde  in  th'  search  for  keyes. 


NATURAL  HISTORY.  345 

The  mark  is  often  put  inside  letters,  and  as  I  have  already 
said,  is  neare  key-words. 

My  word-signs  are  seatt'red  with  most  prodigall  hand, 
not  onely  in  the  prose,  but  also  in  the  diverse  other  workes. 
In  many  places  you  may  finde  them  named  as  joyning- 
wordes,  this  manner  shewing  their  use,  which  is  to  bring 
parts  together.  You  must  likewise  keep  in  minde  one 
very  important  rule :  it  is,  that  like  must  be  joyn'd  to  like. 
Match  each  key.  with  words  of  a  like  meaning,  like  nature,  ' 
or  like  origin.  These  are  sometimes  called,  in  many  prose 
pamphlets  and  th'  workes  of  philosoj)^iy  or  science,  con- 
jugates, connaturalls  and  similars  or  parallels. 

This  doth  unite  parts  in  such  a  maner  that  you  can 
write  in  perfection  my  many  stage-plaies,  histories,  poemes, 
translations  of  Homer,  Ovid,  and  (and)  Virgil,  and  many 
French  poems  writen  at  an  early  age,  and  little  worth  save 
to  finish  the  historie  that  they  complete, — indirectly  it 
is  true,  nor  too  fully,  but  with  such  passion  that  he  who 
doth  put  it  downe  is  sure  to  take  it  up  againe.  It  sheweth 
forth  my  love  for  mine  angelic-faced,  softe-eyed  Mar- 
guerite of  th'  South-land — sweet  White  Rose  of  my  lone 
garden  of  th'  heart. 

My  table  of  keyes  by  which  each  of  the  many  workes 
were  prepared,  you  may  have  found  while  making  out 
this  Cypher;  they  have  beene  placed  in  most  of  my  books, 
but  in  manifolde  wayes,  as  well  as  in  many  places,  in 
order  that  my  Cipher  story  of  mine  earliest  yeeres,  be 
not  writen  whjle  I  stay  in  this  land  of  my  birth  and  right- 
full  inheritance.  It  is  for  this  cause  that  little  of  your 
subject  matter  occupies  one  space,  your  numerous  instruc- 
tions so  widely  dispersed,  nothing  given  with  any  due  con- 
cern as  to  sequence,  changes  (often  unexpected)  from  one 


346  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

place  to  another,  with  much  other  and  entir'ly  foraine 
matter  introduced  to  make  this  to  appeare  principall  in 
the  intention. 

Yet  the  trulie  dilligent  worker  and  ingenious  decipherer 
may  not  thus  easily  be  let  or  missled,  and  I  shall  rest  ill 
in  my  minde  for  this  manie  a  long  day,  least  this  fox  may 
chance  to  be  unkennelled  too  early.  It  is  not  feare,  but 
disstaste  of  th'  unseemely  talk  and  much  curiosity  of  the 
many  who  read  these  Cypher  histories,  and  it  is  worth 
your  time  spent  i'  the  long  labour,  if  I  have  my  inventions 
so  perfected  that  nothing  may  thwart  my  designes. 

My  time  of  feare  went  from  me  with  my  greatness,  but 
I  still  wish  to  avoid  many  questionings, — and  much  sus- 
picion, perchance,  on  the  side  of  the  king,  in  his  owne 
prope'  person.  I  have  neede  of  the  very  caution  which 
kept  these  secrets  from  the  many,  when  my  mother  made 
me  swear  secrecy,  and  my  life  was  the  forfeit;  nor  may 
I  now  speake  openly,  yet  many  men  for  a  kingdome  would 
break  their  oathes. 

But  my  kingdome  is  in  immortall  glory  among  men 
from  generatio'  unto  comming  generations.  An  unend- 
ing fame  will  crowne  my  browe,  and  it  is  farre  better 
worth  in  any  true  thinking  minde,  I  am  assured,  then  many 
a  crowne  which  kings  do  have  set  on  with  shewe  and 
ceremonie.  Yet  when  I  have  said  it,  my  heart  is  sad  for 
the  great  wrong  that  I  must  forever  endure. 

Seeke  th'  key-words  if  you  would  find  th'  secrets  I  shall 
write  or  anie  alreadie  told,  for  a  newe  name  must  now  bee 
given  him  who  shewes  here  written  some  pages  of  his 
hidden  history.  This  you  may  finde  clearly  tolde  in  the 
Word-Cypher  if  it  be  still  to  seeke,  but  as  I  have  mentioned 
it  in  severall  places  I  must  be  allow'd  the  hope  that  you 


NATURAL  HISTORY.  347 

have  found  the  letter  I  have  written  which  contains  the 
directions  in  itself  for  a  Cypher  of  a  very  great  valew 
for  my  purposes. 

I  shewe  many  truths  of  the  affaires  of  th'  times  that 
you  have  not  founde  told  by  my  fellow-historiaiis,  for 
none  knowe  this  page  of  history  as  the  Queene — and  a 
few  others  that  dar'd  not  reveal  it — ^knew  it,  and  fear'd 
it.  What  will  grow  therfrom,  is  unknowne,  yet  none 
living  save  one  man,  besides  the  one  most  interested, 
standeth  in  this  historic.  These  two  are  myself — one  who 
by  rights  should  be  th'  King  of  England,  the  last  o'  the 
honour'd  line  of  rulers  of  whom  none  was  more  honour'd 
then  was  my  mother,  Queene  Elizabeth,  (and  none  lesse 
justlie  so),  the  other  is  His  Ma.  th'  King,  (Charles) 
important  onely  as  th'  sonne  o'  th'  man  who  ruled  his 
owne  kingdome,  that  of  Scotland,  and  mine,  that  o'  Eng- 
land. 

The  principall  reason  which  makes  my  heart  sad  shall 
then  be  seen  more  fully.  It  is"  one  quite  such  as  l^ature, 
herselfe  doth  place  within  us, — the  love  o'  power  with 
desire  for  right  and  justice,  and  though  you  stand  farre 
removed  from  me  in  time  (this  I  doubt  not)  it  is  still 
my  surest  hope  that  you  may  not  let  my  story  lie  hidden 
from  all  eies,  but  will  winne  just  renowne  among  men  by 
writing,  in  many  tongues,  the  Cypher  which  my  writings 
hold  within  them.  As  the  worke  would  scantily  paye 
such  of  the  hunting  men  as  must  be  rewarded  promptlie, 
and  who  can  never  seeke  patiehtlie  secrets  that  be  of  a 
greater  worth  then  any  history  otherwise  giv'n,  especially 
if  it  may  be  through  wayes  that  do  turne  many  times 
backe  and  forth,  you  are,  I  do  assure  you,  alone  in  this 
adventure. 


848  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Many  who  ride  to  th'  chase  turne  back  their  steedes 
before  th'  fox  runs  to  cover;  the  game  is  too  swift,  or, 
as  oft  may  happen  with  one  having  a  steed  of  great  spirit, 
he  is  left  by  a  hedge  and  must  helpe  himself  in  as  good 
humottr  as  possible:  so  in  quests  of  this  sorte  they  will 
not  winne  that  fall  by  the  wayside,  nor  they  that  turne 
back  ere  the  end.  ' 

My  labyrinth  is  tortuous,  guarded  by  a  Minotaur  more 
fierce  than  th'  one  in  Crete,  and  as  watchf  ull  as  a  Cerberus. 
It  is  myselfe  that  watcheth  as  "they  that  prevent  the 
morning,"  lest  I  be  betraied  by  some  Judas  or  moderne 
Sinon,  and  I  trust  that  the  meanderings  leade  the  feet  in 
apparentlie  meaningless  waies,  so  that  the  places  seeme 
not  noteworthy  to  th'  observer,  in  which  I  have  put  the 
keyes,  while  others  having  no  important  matter  have  beene 
prepared  in  a  way  that  arouses  curiosity.  Farre  fro'  her 
neste,  the  Lapwing  cries,  away;  and  I  have  thus  farre 
met  with  unhoped,  even  unthought  of  results,  insomuch 
that  now  I  feare  that  my  whole  labour  may  be  lost. 

But  faith  is  triumphant,  and  th'  doubts  are  generally 
conquered;  for  we  do  place  men's  powers  i'  rank,  not  so 
farre  beneath  our  owne  that  we  give  waye  to  distrust. 
This  that  is  cast  wide  upon  darke  waters  may  some  daye 
bring  a  reward  to  one  who  did  not  sowe  th'  grain  nor 
plough  th'  ground;  but  when  it  shall  be,  my  fame  must 
exceed  his.  This  that  I  do,  ever  must  be  held  of  such 
value  that  the  work  of  him  who  carries  it  forward  can 
but  be,  as  hath  beene  formerly  mentioned,  second  to  mine. 

You  now  must  use  other  plays  which  are  combin'd,  in 
the  manner  of  the  many  already  used,  as  follows:  Peele's 
comedy  of  The  ^  Old  Wives'  Tale ;  and  Shakespeare,  his 
Twelfe  Night,  or  What  You  Will;  Comedy  of  Errors; 


NATURAL  HISTORY.  349 

Midsommer  ]!s^iglit'  Dreame;  As  You  Like  It;  Love'a 
Labour  Lost,  and  Th'  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona.  Next 
Greene's  Pinner  of  Wakefield,  with  the  Merchant  of 
Venice ;  to  these  join  the  Arraignement  o'  Paris  of  Peele, 
and  The  Taming  o'  the  Shrew,  Marlowe's  Jew  o'  Malta, 
and  second  Doctor  Fausstus,  Th'  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor, 
Measure  for  Measure,  and  All  is  Well  that  Ends  Well. 
When  you  compleate  the  foregoing,  take  Much  Ado  about 
ISTothing,  Peek's  Tale  of  Troy,  Hiren  th'  Faire  Greeke, 
and  The  Winter's  Tale. 

By  this  time  you  must  have  found  all  these  rules,  as 
everie  play  contains  many.  These  direct  your  feet  in  a 
winding  waie,  wearysome  to  you  oft-times  and  not  always 
promising  much  profite,  and  yet  manie  stories  are  wrapt 
in  this  Oyphe'.  Many  of  these  were  placed  heere  only 
for  a  guide  or  aide,  in  my  Cipher- work.  This  must  have 
beene  soe  apparent  many  times  that  my  mention  of  it 
giveth  you  undue  labour,  but  you  had  not  greater  dificultie 
with  this  very  tortive  Cypher,  it  must  be  scene,  then  I 
have  had  in  writing  them  all  and  co'cealing  one  within 
others  so  neatly  that  no  prying  eie  hath  read  the  stories 
thus  hidden  here. 

This  Cypher  then  is  of  value  to  future  generations. 
They  who  may  have  an  ardent  desire  for  glory,  hereby 
may  find  a  waye  to  gain  the  honour  which  they  thus 
fervently  and  fev'rously  seeke.  He  that  is  imployed  to 
conduct  business  which  doth  much  concerne  matters  of 
th'  State,  and  th'  affaires  that  not  onely  are  of  importancy 
to  princes,  but  to  the  people,  shall  not  faile  to  want  other, 
possibly  many  and  varied,  means  of  transmitting  what- 
ever is  of  secrecy  or  great  import  in  his  embassage.  To 
him  shall  my  invention  give  joy  and  profit  many  times. 


350 


BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 


nor  can  it  be  untimely  at  any  age  of  human  history — 
when  my  life  is  done,  a  monument  more  white  and  fair 
then  the  marble  the  farre  mines  o'  Italy  or  Isles  of  Ionia 
have  ever  produc'd. 

Pause  before  abandoning  your  work  to  aske:  "Is  my 
honor,  my  pride,  my  fortune  or  fame  pledg'd  to  anie- 
thing?"  It  is  said  to  anyone  having  gone  forth  to  his 
labor:  "Let  not  him  look  back  who  hath  put  hand  unto 
his  plough;"  so  shall  the  man  who  may  have  found  my 
inventions  presse  forward  to  his  farthest  bourne,  and 
winne  the  reward  of  industrious  workers. 

Never  may  doubts  and  idle  fears  assail  him.  A  light 
shineth  upon  th'  path  his  feet  must  tread,  guiding  like 
fiery  pillar  both  while  the  night  doth  darken,  and  in  the 
daytime  when  the  sunne  doth  shine, — in  th'  n9ontime, 
at  evening  and  at  mome.  Many  moneths  shall  this  light 
guard  the  waye,  guiding  his  feete,  and  comforting  his 
spirits.  ]^o  labyrinth  can  bee  so  winding  that  he  shal 
not  be  the  leader  through  all  the  twisted,  subtile 
turnings. 

As  houndes  pursew  the  fox,  so  swiftly  must  he  foUowe 
the  quest  till  the  Cipher  histories  be  found.  Time  will 
justlie  pay  all  his  obligations,  as  he  provided  early  in  his 
venture,  nor  will  he  aba' don  one  who  wandereth  in  Night 
and  ^gyptia'  darknesse  untill  he  hath  found  th'  light 
Your  assurance  may  grow  strong,  my  friend,  for  th'  end 
is  sure.     The  golden  crowne  shall  one  day  be  yours. 

Alas,  how  do  men's  mindes  tume  to  the  hope  of  a 
great  name  in  some  other  waie,  when  no  greatnesse  of 
bloud  hath  set  a  seal  upo'  them.  Some,  however,  are 
greater  by  birth.  Such  are  heires  to  kingdomes,  as  I 
myself  am,  yea,   and  heire  to   a  scepter,   itself  of  such 


NATURAL  HISTORY.  351 

p)w'r  that  Europe  doth  tremble  in  dread  o'  wrath  and 
destruction  if  the  shade  we  falleth  over  the  land:  yet  I  am 
not  king,  nor  even  heire-apparent  to  His  Ma.  My  mother 
gave  away  her  owne  first-borne  fruit  o'  her  body,  nor  did 
she  at  any  subsequent  time  honor  him  publickly  as  her 
Sonne,  although  she  promised  it  oft  in  the  earlier  years 
of  her  raigne.  I  who  now  speake  to  you  in  this  waye,  as 
hath  bin  said  elsewhere  in  th'  Cipher,  am  the  Prince  so 
unjustlie  treated.  My  heart  burneth  in  my  bosom,  my 
spirit  swelleth  like  Neptune's  waters  before  a  tempest, 
and  threateneth  to  orepeer  the  lists  whenere  my  eager 
thoughts  dwell  long  upon  a  crowne  and  throne. 

ISTor  is  it  wholly  borne  of  injuries. 
But  there  is  that  within  my  spiritt  saith 
That  I  was  form'd  to  govern  other  men, 
Wisely  and  boldly  as  befittteth  kings. 
It  is  no  vaine  conceit,  no  idole  dreame, 
But  in  my  veines  a  royall  currant  floweth 
Whose  sourse,  no  other  than  the  heart  of  him 
Surnam'd  the  Conqueror,  sent  i'  crimson  rivers, 
Warm,  vitall,  swift,  in  many  channels  running; 
Through  heart  o'  one  the  boldest  of  th'  bold, 
Whom  men  re-christen'd  Cordelion — ^Richard, 
The  Lion  Heart;    through  artiers  of  that  king, 
Edward  the  Third  in  name — th'  first  in  honor; 
And  in  bold  Henry  Fifth  coursing  like  fire; 
That  bloud  inflam'd  my  grandsire  Henry  Eight; 
Surged  in  the  veines  of  Queen  Elizabeth, 
My  royall  mother;    now,  to  me  come  downe, 
Entaileth  to  me,  by  a  law  divine. 
This  sole  inheritance.     Yea,  it  is  mine, 


352  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

A  gift  irrevocable  from  her  whose  hand 

Th'  imperiall  scepter  held.    Not  Jove  himselfe 

With  awfuU  bending  browe, — the  nod  that  shaketh 

The  firm  foundation  of  the  solid  globe 

With  fev'rous  earthequakes,  maketh  Heaven  ti*emble 

In  terrour  and  affright,  and  hurleth  backe 

To  secret  ocean  cave  a  frighten'd  horde 

Of  cowering  waves, — had  pow'r  to  give  to  gods, 

Or  unto  humankind,  decree  more  fix'd. 

Such  are  these  Cypher  poemes  I  put  within  workes  of 
this  kind.  The  theam  of  the  exteriour  works — play, 
poem,  or  work  of  science — often  no  waye  concerneth  that 
contain'd  within,  yet  in  the  Cypher  history  I  have  put 
some  of  my  wealth  of  poesy,  both  of  poesie  which  doth 
intend  nought  but  th'  giving  of  pleasure,  and  that  whose 
designe  is  to  instruct.  Many  are  plays,  others  are  trans- 
lated epics  of  Virgin  and  Homer,  I  repeate  this  oft  since 
I  know  not  what  pages  have  been  work'd  out,  not  sup- 
posing that  instinct  in  a  decypherer  can  be  so  strong,  that 
he  hath  begun  his  work  where  I  commenced  my  instruc- 
tions; yea,  in  workes  of  poetry,  history,  science,  I  have 
scatter'd  with  free  hand  so  raanie  repetitions  of  my  direc- 
tions that  it  would  surprise  me  beyond  measure,  if  my 
letter  remaine  still  a  sealed  booke  whose  writing  none 
may  read. 

When  sufficient  have  beene  found  in  any  place  to  make 
a  full  tale  of  keyes,  a  portion  o'  this  history  may  be 
written,  and,  please  you,  the  writing  o'  th'  secrets  is 
chiefest  in  my  conceit,  for  'twere  a  more  note-worthy 
thing,  I  hold,  to  make  true  and  correct  records  of  the 
history  of  England  and  of  Queene  Elizabeth,  her  life. 


NATURAL  HISTORY.  353 

than  to  relate  the  most  thrilling  tale  man's  minde  can 
produce.  It  doth  redounde  most  to  our  credit  of  all  our 
worthy  labou',  and  shall  also  bring  just  reward  unto  the 
decipherer,  but  no  part  is  better  worth  noting  then  the 
portio'  that  doth  containe  the  story  which  Time  onely 
will  reveale,  inasmuch  as  it  is  nowhere  found  or  is  nowhere 
left  to  my  countrymen  but  in  Cypher. 

The  reason  is  not  farre  t'  seeke;  'tis  this:  the  many 
spies  employ'd  by  our  mother,  the  constant  watchfuU  eies 
she  had  upon  us,  marking  our  going  out  and  our  coming 
in,  our  rising  up  and  all  our  movements  from  the  rising 
of  the  sunne,  to  his  rising  upon  the  following  morning; 
not  a  moment  when  we  could  openly  write  and  publish  a 
true,  accurate  history  of  our  times,  since  nought  which 
Her  Ma.  disapprov'd  could  ever  finde  a  printer. 

This  then  is  th'  onely  cause  of  my  secrecy,  but  it  is 
much  too  great  an  attempt  now  to  reveale  all  this  openly: 
instead,  I  will  spend  my  whole  time  in  encreast  modells, 
and  well  form'd  examples  of  the  art  o'  transmitting.  A 
true  accompt  of  my  mother's  favorite  treasure  is  strictly 
given  in  my  history — :her  love  of  golden  praises,  of  silverie 
tongued  words  of  flattering  speech,  dialogues  of  compli- 
ment and  princely  sayings,  or  ceremonies.  It  formed  her 
chief  wealth,  while,  unlike  the  mother  of  the  Gracchi, 
she  did  not  reckon  sonnes  as  jeweles,  nor  did  she  openly 
acknowledge  either  my  brother  or  myself — borne  princes 
— heires  to  th'  kingdome. 

It  bumeth  as  an  injury  no  lapse  of  time  can  cure,  a 
ceaselesse  corosive  which  doth  eate  th'  heart.  Th'  sole 
relief  e  doth  come  by  making  out  a  complete  history  of  my 
wrong  that  doth  so  embitter  my  dayes.  Men  can  eat 
sleepe,  drinke,  worke  when  the  heart  is  bowed  down  in 


354  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

pain,  yet  the  joys  are  gone  from  their  whole  lives,  and 
doe  not  return.  Chief  of  sorrows  is  a  sense  of  willful 
wrong  on  th'  part  of  such  men  or  women  as  have  greatest 
obligation  by  relation,  and  more  especially  those  of  neerest 
and  most  tender  relationship — that  of  parents  to  a  childe. 
This  will  never  grow  inferior,  nor  ev'n  merely  equall  to 
the  naturall  ills  in  life.  It  doth  rather  greatly  magnify 
and  increase.  Why  and  wherefore  I  shall  not  aske,  nor 
marvell  at  ought  of  similar  nature.  The  Creator  planted 
this  within  the  bosom  o'  our  kind.  Who  hath  so  great 
wisedome  or  soe  just  judgment  of  our  life,  of  right  or 
wrong,  as  our  Maker?  Who  can  pronounce  His  lawes  at 
fault?  A  foole  or  blind,  perchance,  not  he  that  sees,  nor 
the  man  o'  thought. 

Your  work  is  soe  thoroughly  plan'd,  its  every  part 
neatly  joined  togather  before  it  was  again  separated,  it 
awaits  th'  master  hand.  I  may  teach  you  the  manner  and 
perhaps  shew  manie  examples  in  divers  works  for  your 
use,  as  appeare  often  in  more  than  three  methodes  of 
transmitting,  yet  the  work  is  entirelie  left  to  you. 

It  dependeth  upon  others  oft-times  to  reape  th'  har- 
vest one  hand  hath  sowen,  and  my  labour  may  be  so  com- 
pared: it  is  also  verie  like  th'  sounds  musicians  make  in 
tuning  their  instruements,  of  no  delight  or  pleasantnesse 
to  heare,  but  for  this  cause,  afterward  there  is  sweeter  and 
more  pleasing  musicke.  But  we  shall  have  occasion  to 
shew  the  wonderfully  beautifuU  harmony  that  hath  at  one 
time  been  brought  forth,  if  you  but  obey  us. 

There  is  a  play  in  some  of  my  prose  works,  in  Cypher, 
of  great  worth,  entitl'd  The  White  Rose  o'  Britaine.  It 
hath  as  principall  actors,  names  verie  familiar.  Historie 
related  events,  and  out  of  many  papers  which  th'  times 


NATURAL  HISTORY.  355 

render  of  importance,  I  have  made  a  play.  The  parts  con- 
cerning my  matemall  great-grandsire,  who  as  you  no 
doubt  have  learned  before  this  was  King  Henry  Seventh, 
and  also  much  o'  that  that  doth  chiefly  concern  his  thorne, 
that  Perldn  (or  as  it  is  often  written  elsewhere,  Peterkin) 
Warbeck,  and  the  gentle  wife,  whom  the  king  so  gallantly 
nam'd  White  Rose  o'  Britaine,  will  be  found  in  the  his- 
toric of  his  raigne.  The  remaining  portions  are  put  in 
my  Essays,  in  my  Advancement  of  Learning,  the  Anatomy 
of  Melancholy  and  portions  of  such  plays  as  naturallie 
treat  of  affaires  of  State. 

It  shall  give  many  a  portion  of  my  history,  for,  my 
owne  case  is  of  the  same  nature  as  Perkin's,  but  my  claime 
was  just,  his  built  on  thin  aire.  Wrongs  have  been  done 
me  which  none  have  known  but  persons  who  kept  th' 
secret  of  my  early  life.  In  this  play  you  heare  the  chaf 'd 
lion's  sullen  roare,  and  though  the  scenes  have  their  proper 
place  in  the  history  of  Henry  the  Seventh's  time,  manie  of 
them  will  be  found  to  relate  other  things  of  an  after  time. 
If  you  keepe  my  life  and  its  rude  tumults  in  minde,  this 
play  that  seemeth  to  relate  such  events  in  the  reigne  [of] 
this  most  mighty  king,  shall  portray  many  a  scene  in  that 
of  Elizabeth,  my  owne  royall  parent.  It  is  the  vaine  crie 
the  tortured  one  doth  utter  ere  the  spirit  doth  quit  the 
earthly  frame. 

You  can  proceed  at  once  to  collect  much  matter  to- 
gather  in  masse  to  be  assorted,  arranged,  put  aside  for  your 
future  use,  as  you  have  frequentlie  received  directions  ifi 
a  great  many  works  and  in  more  places  then  one,  arid  so 
mark'd  and  dispos'd  as  to  lie  as  readie  to  th'  hand,  as 
brickes  unto  the  hand  of  th'  builder. 


886  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Many  a  yeare  I  did  work  upon  this  method  to  perfect 
it  for  use,  and  I  submit  it  to  you  not  so  much  as  a  work 
which  shall  be  to  the  advantage  of  my  self  e,  that  in  truth, 
right,  and  the  simplest  justice  should  have  the  soveraignty 
of  th'  kingdome,  as  one  brought  forth  for  the  aggrandize- 
ment of  the  patient  decypherer.  It  is  for  this  that  I  looke 
out  to  that  long  future,  not  of  years  but  of  ages,  knowing 
that  my  labours  are  for  benefit  of  a  land  very  far  off,  and, 
after  great  length  of  time  is  past,  Europe  must  also  reap 
th'  great  harvest  still  ripening  as  doth  the  yellowe  graine 
where  th'  sunshine  doth  fall. 

As  for  th'  Cypher-play  you  have  now  to  write,  when  you 
have  brought  each  cipher  block  (I  use  a  native  mode  of 
speech)  you  comence  by  polishing  and  rounding  these  to 
resemble  such  as  the  plays  that  you  already  have  written 
contain.  Many  parts  are  rough,  it  remains  for  your  hand 
to  polish  some,  reconstruct  others,  nor  leave  unturned  the 
least  portion  of  a  line  which  I  have  plac'd  in  the  Historic 
of  King  Henry  the  Seventh,  and  manie  like  prose  workes, 
inasmuch  as  my  time  would  not  suffice  to  give  this  further 
attention. 

But  your  experience  hath  well  furnished  the  minde 
with  all  our  directions  and  rules  for  any  worke  of  this 
kinde,  therefore  our  last  play  shall  surelie  hold  a  place 
of  equal  ranke  with  those  that  have  doubtlesse  come  to  th' 
hands  of  our  publishers  long  ere  this.  For  the  decypher- 
ing  of  these  secret  workes  will  hardly  be  so  closelie  hid, 
or  so  secretly  done  as  hath  beene  th'  work  of  my  silent 
preparation. 

In  some  places  another  word  has  beene  conjoin'd,  as 
confusion  may  arise  if  I  give  not  some  just  signe,  or  other- 
wise shewe  which  part  of  my  owne  life  is  related  in  this 


NATURAL  HISTORY.  357 

play.  As  in  the  early  part  which  I  spent  across  the  chan- 
nell,  surely  in  this  the  same  kind  of  guiding  words  set 
this  apart.  These,  the  words  thus  used,  pertaine  to  human- 
ity, as  for  example,  mankinde,  womankinde,  and  all  th' 
kinds  of  names  us'd  in  th'  language  to  signify  human- 
kinde. 

Seeke  all  the  keies  which  are  so  guarded  by  a  word  that 
I  have  pointed  out  thorow  the  many  bookes.  Like  fingers 
on  a  guide-post  they  shall  so  direct  the  way  out  of  the 
labyrinth  that  you  can  trace  it  with  the  penne  as  on  a 
map  or  chart.  All  the  rules  given  for  th'  other  works 
shall  be  used  to  decipher  this  play,  and  th'  first  thing  to 
do  in  this,  as  in  all,  must  be  making  ready  a  true  table 
of  my  guards,  guides,  keies,  word-signs  (or  such  as  bring 
these  portiones  into  such  relation  or  position,  with  regarde 
each  to  the  other,  as  before ;  or  those  that  do  give  a  direc- 
tion to  the  work  so  named)  also  th'  numerous  and  diverse 
names  that  designate  various  works. 

When  this  hath  beene  well  prepared  anie  further  delay 
is  unnecessary  for  all  else  was  but  secundarie  in  my  de- 
signe.  If  further  directions  bee  requir'd  they  must  come 
to  light  in  the  pursuance  o'  this  work.  This  in  truth  is 
in  part  my  plan,  as  I  have  found  no  rules  can  be  render'd 
quite  crystalline,  finished  and  perfected,  beforehand,  but 
use  shall  pollish  them  like  glasses  of  steel.  This  is  not  a 
deficiency  in  any  of  the  rules  or  direct' ons,  but  hath  roote 
in  th'  weaknesse  and  insufiiciency  that  sheweth  ever  in  a 
man's  first  motions  by  another's  suggestions.  Yet  custome 
doth  familiarize  these  notions — the  repitition  o'  th'  action 
helpeth  also — thereafter  th'  hand  of  th'  man  is  a  perfect 
and  constant  instrument  obeying  the  will  of  a  tirelesse 
master-minde  and  spirit. 


358  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Thus  the  decyph'rer,  part  only  of  that  instrument,  doth 
draw  a  hidden  secret  forth,  revealing  marvellously  strange 
happenings  as  unknowne  to  himselfe  as  they  have  thus 
farre  (necessarily)  beene  to  all  the  world  outside  this 
microcosme — myselfe.  This  must  bee  so,  yet  shall  his 
most  importante  labours  in  due  time  have  the  worthy 
measure  of  reward  that  they  undeniably  but  justlie  merit. 

I  must  plant,  I  must  sow,  while  none  save  hee  shall 
reape  my  fields  of  ripening  golden  corn  that  must  feed  the 
hungrie  in  future  ages.  Th'  gods'  sweet  nectar  or  ambro- 
sia is  not  so  immortall  as  my  precious  harvest  shall  be. 
It  is  to  you  I  doe  speak,  and  unto  you  do  I  looke  for  aide. 
I,  alone,  am  like  a  child  in  its  infancie,  weake  and  help- 
lesse;  you  must  afford  strength  for  my  frame.  Yours  is 
the  hand  that  must  lead  me  whither  my  steps  would  go— 
the  guide,  lamp,  staffe  indeed  my  sole  hope  and  staie — ^the 
judge  who  is  to  give  sentence  upon  the  least  or  upon  the 
greatest  of  the  crimes  any  of  the  persons  of  whom  I  speak 
were  guilty — the  one  from  whom  I  shall  expect  just  sen- 
tence when  my  owne  life  doth  stand  before  you  in  judge- 
ment. 

When  my  very  soule  doth  lie,  as  the  soules  of  men 
shall,  before  our  Father's  judgement  seate,  expos'd  to  the 
eies  of  men  and  angels,  I  shall  receyve  all  men's  praise  in- 
steed  of  a  whole  nation's  or  manie  nations'  contumely. 
Then  my  love  shall  bee  known,  which  would  sacrifice  my 
ease  that  humanity  might  share  in  all  these  labours,  reap- 
ing rich  benefits  from  my  studies.  So  must  my  name  bee 
revered  in  manie  a  land  among  th'  sons  of  men;  and  in 
old  countries  where  learning  doth  flourish,  shall  new 
knowledge  grow  from  these  experiments  or  inquiries  when 
th'  naturall  lawes  have  been  more  carefully  sought. 


NATURAL  HISTORY.  359 

It  must  be  well  seene  in  many  person's  experience,  that 
while  Fortune  hath  somewhat  of  a  woman's  nature,  hast'n- 
ing  her  steps  whenere  pursued,  studies  and  learning  may 
be  said  to  woo  their  lovers.  Knowledge  will  reward  all 
who  seeke  th'  real  spirit  or  beautifull  outward  forme.  No 
ardente  follower  was  ere  unsatisfied,  if  he  faltered  not  nor 
wearied  in  a  race  up  the  lofty  steeps  of  Olympus,  and  I 
now  seeke  th'  dizzie  top  more  eagerlie  then  I  did  in  those 
e'rly  dales  when  my  bloud  ran  warme  and  life  itselfe  was 
as  the  first  rayes  of  faire  sunshine:  for  the  crowne  then 
seemed  to  hang  ore  my  head.  My  right  was  made  plaine 
to  me,  and  besides  a  great  earnestnesse,  a  persisting  upon 
my  owne  side,  there  should  bge,  and  I  doubt  there  was, 
some  secret  bending  or  stooping  o'  my  mother's  spirit,  yet 
my  fate  was  as  a  card — a  die  cast  by  hands  of  those  bold 
men,  not  as  a  prince's  shining  destiny. 

I  f aine  would  attest  how  painfull  this  acting  parts  soon 
(naturally)  did  seeme  unto  my  father,  for,  said  hee,  "A 
mortall  man  may  speak  falselie  upon  occasion  but  he  was 
a  strange  man  who  dared  live  a  falsehood;"  nevertheless 
hee  did  live,  the  unacknowledg'd  husband  of  Queene 
Elizabeth,  my  mother.  But  hee  was  an  unwise  and  most 
artles  actour,  and  oft  did  give  sad  trouble  to  some  of  our 
managers  or  controllers,  those  in  the  haughtie  Burleigh's 
emploie,  or  th'  hand  and  glove  associates  who  served  as  his 
factors,  but  this  was  not  of  any  momente. 

The  times  were  not  a  bad  schoolemaster.  When  I 
resumed  my  former  study  of  th'  state  of  th'  nations,  and 
patiently  work'd  out  th'  modell  of  government,  my  most 
potent  reason  may  be  justlie  gather'd;  for  I  then  did  trust 
to  his  hopefuU  spirit  as  a  sonne  naturallie  should.  In  my 
Cipher  as  you  must  soon  see,  I  have  WTitten  out  the  afore- 
said modell,  which  I  still  thinke  is  worthy  of  attention. 


360  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Make  search  for  keies  in  another  work  entitled,  New 
Atlantis,  but  looke  on  further  for  directions.  Here  you 
may  finde  a  rule  by  which  Cipher  stories,  of  value  and 
interest  not  onely  in  the  time  of  which  this  secret  work 
doth  treate,  but  also  when  a  future  time  is  come,  are  put 
within  some  of  my  other  workes.  These  are  written  as 
intending  their  printing,  but  no  design  of  publication  ere 
did  enter  the  plan  that  I  formed  of  this  opportune  methode 
of  hiding  my  worke  until  such  time  as  one  shall  write 
my  history. 

This  historic  in  the  form  of  plays,  concerneth  a  great 
and  most  mightie  sovereign,  Queene  Elizabeth,  with  mine 
owne  eventfull  life,  the  -sorry  course  of  the  Earle  that 
was  mine  apparent  friend,  when  in  fact  he  is  my  brother 
and  my  enemy,  the  reall  poUicy  that  (as  Queene  of  a 
mighty  people,  and  ruler  above  every  other  which  then 
did  reigne  i'  th'  bounds  o'  Europe,  Asia,  or  Americ)  Eliza- 
beth pursued  in  relation  to  this  matter,  which  is  now  mis- 
understood, with  other  diverse  subjects. 

This  rule  is  as  follows:  Keyes  are  placed  usually  in 
the  same  portion  with  joining  words,  that  shewe  which 
parts  had  stood  in  juxtaposition.  The  parts  are  to  stand 
as  in  that  former  or  originall  worke.  When  these  are  all 
joined  together,  you  have  those  plaies,  or  prose  historic, 
poems,  (the  Uliad  o'  Homer  is  concealed  within  the  Cipher 
with  Virgil  his  vEneid)  and  so  forth.  I  give  in  this  man- 
ner many  of  the  principall  themes  and  plans,  but  in  the 
Cipher  you  have  the  directions  for  writing  the  same. 

I  must  have  a  trustworthie  decipherer,  a  true  writer, 
and  readie  interpreter,  or  the  best  of  my  work  will  never 
have  neede  of  a  printer.  This  is  my  onely  manner  of 
shewing  out  my  true  name,  but  it  is  well  that  my  many 


NATURAL  HISTORY.  361 

valued  books  have  given  the  name  which  I  bear  worthiest 
renoune  or  I  might  loose  my  immortall  honors — the  fame 
that  I  would  winne. 

When  this  worke  is  finished,  you  must  returne  t'  the 
place  upon  page  two-hundred  fifty-one,  and  finde  th'  secret 
story  begun  in  Ce'tury  Ten.  The  keyes  are  Paris,  glove, 
favour,  embassador,  French,  lady,  lord,  childhood,  king, 
queene,  child,  love  and  wounds. 

The  storie  of  my  secret  mission  is  thus  begunne,  for  as 
hath  beene  said,  I  was  intrusted  at  that  very  time  with 
businesse  requiring  great  secrecy  and  expediency.  This 
was  soe  well  conducted  as  to  winne  the  Queene's  frank  ap- 
provall,  and  I  had  a  liveKe  hope  by  meanes  of  this  enter- 
ing wedge  to  be  follow'd  by  the  request  nearest  unto  my 
soule  [I]  should  so  bende  Her  Majestie's  minde  to  my 
wish.  Sir  Amyias  Paulet  undertooke  to  negotiate  both 
treaties  at  once,  and  came  thereby  very  near  to  a  breach 
with  the  Queene,  ^s  well  as  disgrace  at  Henrie's  Court. 
Both  calamities,  however,  were  averted  by  such  admirable 
adroitnesse  that  I  could  but  yield  due  respect  to  the  finesse, 
while  discomforted  by  th'  death  of  my  hope. 

From  that  day  I  lived  a  doub'full  life,  swinging  like  a 
pendent  branch  to  and  fro,  or  tempest  toss'd  by  manie  a 
troublous  desire.  At  length  I  turned  my  attention  from 
love,  and  used  all  my  time  and  wit  to  make  such  advance- 
ment in  learning  or  atchieve  such  great  profici(ci)ency  in 
studies  that  my  name  as  a  lover  of  Sciences  should  bee  best 
known  and  most  honour'd,  lesse  for  m'  owne  agrandizement 
than  as  an  advantaging  of  mankind,  but  with  some  naturall 
desires  to  approove  my  worthinesse  in  th'  sight  o'  my  booke- 
loving  and  aspiring  mother,  beleeving  that  by  thus  doing 
I  should  advance  my  claime  and  obtayne  my  rights,  not 


362  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

aware  of  Cecill,  his  misapplied  zeale  in  bringing  this  to 
Her  Majestie's  notice,  to  convinc'  her  minde  that  I  had 
noe  other  thought  save  a  designe  to  winne  sovraigntie  in 
her  life-time. 

I  neede  not  assert  how  farre  this  was  from  my  heart  at 
any  time,  especiallie  in  my  youth,  but  th'  Queene's  jeal- 
ousie  so  blinded  her  reason  that  she,  folowing  th'  sugges- 
tion of  malice,  shewed  little  pride  in  my  attempts,  discov- 
ering in  truth  more  envie  then  naturall  pride,  and  more 
hate  than  affection. 

A  little  while  therafter  her  troubles  concerning  Mary 
of  Scots  began,  and  nothing  else  had  such  exceeding  in- 
teresse  in  her  eyes  as  th'  least  trifle  of  airey  nothingnesse 
which  came  to  us  regarding  her  cousin.*  a  wish  to  goe 
thither  took  possession  of  her,  and  she  was  almost  per- 
swaded,  I  am  well  assur'd,  to  goe  to  Scotland  with  a  gentle- 
man from  that  Court  in  the  disguise  of  a  youth,  as  page  to 
the  gaye  Courtier,  whilst  her  chamber  should,  in  her  ab- 
sence, be  closed  as  though  suf 'ring  so  much  payne  as  that 
it  compelled  her  to  deny  audience  to  everie  person  save 
Lady  Strafford  and  th'  physitian. 

But  this  foolish  plann  died  ere  it  was  brought  to  ful- 
nesse  of  time,  thereby  making  it  apparent  that  at  second 
thought  her  wisedome  doth  exceede  idole  curiositie. 

For  yeares  th'  wish  lay  quiescent.  Soone,  in  truth,  the 
Queene  came  hither  requesting  a  safe  conduct  into  France. 
This  being  harshly  refus'd,  th'  ministers  thinking  it  more 
prudent  at  that  time  to  allowe  her  such  sure  shelter  in  our 
owne  countrey  that  she  should  be  safe  from  her  enemies, 
whilst  in  England,  this  poor  Queene  was  moov'd  from  one 
castle  to  another,  but  was  not  as  yet,  brought  before  Eliza- 
beth^  

*Shortly  after  the  return  of  her  rival  to  her  native  land 

<      ^*^oMi~'^^  ^®-  ^'°®  omitted  from  the  original.    See  Rawley's  Explanation 


NATURAL  HISTORY.  363 

Againe  a  desire  to  looke  on  the  face  of  her  foe  stirr'd 
in  her,  so  that  newe  curiosity  made  her  inquire  of  all  who 
knew  the  lady  concerning  her  beautie,  hight,  colour  of 
hair,  qualitie  of  her  voyce,  et  csetera,  verie  like  to  the  fam- 
ous Egyptian  Queene  regarding  Octavia,  and,  to  gratify 
her  consumi'g  desire  it  was  soone  arrang'd  by  my  ill-advis'd 
father  to  give  Her  Majestic  a  sight  of  this  Queene  whilst 
supping  in  quiet  by  invitation  at  his  owne  house. 

Elizabeth,  angered  by  hearing  what  pass'd  betweene 
Queene  Mary  and  my  father,  stept  forth  quickly,  discov'r- 
ing  herselfe  and  administ'red  a  reproofe  my  father  under- 
stood farre  better  then  Queene  Mary  could.  'Tis  a  subject 
of  wonder  that  it  did  not  signe  both  death  warrants,  for 
th'  trouble  that  was  spoken  of  in  this  matter  was  constantly 
increasing  evidence  that  a  Cypher  us'd  in  Mary's  forraine 
correspondence  had  beene  the  medium  by  which  a  com- 
plai'te  had  beene  made  of  her  treatment,  and  pleas  widelie 
disseminated  for  assistance. 

The  Queene  set  mee  at  discyph'ring  this,  nor  can  I 
deny,  indeed,  that  it  grew  so  clear  that  it  would  glimmer 
througljt  the  dullest  of  eies  that  the  imprisoned  Queene  did 
not  intende  anything  short  of  her  owne  proper  enthroniza- 
tion.  She  did  affect  greatly  both  France  and  Spaine, 
partly  because  of  her  religion,  and  partly,  in  respect  of 
France,  because  of  her  brief,  but  happy  union  formerly 
with  Francis  Second,  a  brother  of  Henry,  th'  soveraigne 
then  on  th'  throne.  And  whilst  many  of  the  epistles  were 
difficult,  and  to  me  impossible, — not  having  th'  keie, — to 
decypher,  my  labor  had  better  fruits  then  I  on  my  owne 
part  wish'd,  for  I  had  a  secret  sympathy  for  this  poor  wan- 
derer although  by  no  menes  interesting  or  engaging  my- 
selfe  on  anie  dangerous  chance. 


364  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

As  I  have  said  elsewhere  in  th'  principall  Cypher,  Her 
Majesty  had  suspected  me  of  open*  assistance  when  in  th' 
sunnie  land  of  France.  In  truth  that  disagreeable  insinu- 
ation had  much  to  doe  with  her  decision  respecti'g  my 
owne  marriage,  not  a  wante  of  fitnesse  in  the  parties.  How- 
ever, no  act  or  written  word  could  bee  produc'd  in  proof, 
or  cited  to  shew  that  I  had  ever  had  such  sympathy, — that 
it  was  shewn  eithe'  openly  or  privately  to  herself e;  the 
jealous  suspicions  died  away  and  my  assistance  as  adviser, 
and  I  may  say  valuable  counselour,  was  eamestlie  desired. 

'Tis  a  grievous  fault,  I,  [ay]  a  dreadfuU  crime,  to  con- 
spire as  Marie  of  Scots  did  against  a  great  Queene.  Th' 
very  power  and  grandeur  awakeneth  a  reverence  or  a  ven- 
eration in  th'  heart,  and  give  a  sovereigne  much  in  comon 
with  our  Supreme  Ruler, — it  must  not  be  soe  inquir'd  of. 

Elizabeth,  thereunto  prompted  by  her  prudent  advis- 
ers, at  length  adopted  a  policie  soe  mild  in  its  nature  that 
her  foe  could  no'  make  just  complaint,  and  th'  matter  then 
rested  quiet  a  short  time. 

Her  Majestic  soften'd  so  much  towards  my  unthinking 
father,  that  instead  o'  driving  him  away  implacably,  she 
gave  him  command  at  once  of  her  army  in  f  oreigne  warres, 
and  disspatcht  him  as  Master  o'  th'  Horse  of  Her  Majes- 
tie's  army  in  th'  Netherlands. 

A  short  respite  followed,  and  had  Queene  Mary  bin 
wam'd  by  th'  experiences  of  her  very  great  danger,  calam- 
ity might  doubtlesslie  have  beene  finally  avoyded;  for  th' 
divided  minde  of  Her  Majestic,  swaying  now  here,  now 
there,  at  no  time  long  clung  to  revengeful  intents.  In 
such  incertainty  was  she,  that  a  report  of  words  that  might 
be  conster'd  as  spoken  with  t'reat  or  malice,  another,  folow- 


NATURAL  HISTORY.  365 

ing  it,  should  be  set  downe  because  of  its  kir.dnesse  and 
forbearrance. 

Such,  however,  was  by  no  meanes  Lord  Burleigh's  man- 
ner. In  truth,  soe  determin'd  was  hee  not  onelie  that 
sentence  o'  death  should  surely  bee  pronounc'd  against  her 
when  she  was  brought  to  triall, — if  triall  that  may  bee 
entitul'd,  when  th'  haplesse  prisoner  must  needs  chose 
from  the  counsell  of  her  foe  to  obtaine  any  defender  in 
th'  proceedings, — but,  likewise,  that  th'  harsh  se't«nce 
should  not  lingr  i'  execution. 

Soone  there  was  a  secret  interview  betweene  Lord  Bur- 
leigh [and]  Earle  of  Leicester,  to  which  was  summoned 
the  Queene's  Secretary  who  was  so  threaten'd  by  his  lord- 
ship— on  paine  of  death,  et  caetera,  th'  poor  fool — that  hee 
sign'd  for  the  Queene,  and  affixed  th'  great  seale  to  the 
dreadful  death-warrant. 

The  life  of  the  Secretarie  was  forfeit  to  the  deede  when 
Her  Majesty  became  aware  that  so  daring  a  crime  had 
beene  committed,  but  who  shall  say  that  the  blow  fell  on 
the  guilty  head;  for,  truth  to  say,  Davison  was  onely  a 
poor  feeble  instrumment  in  their  handds,  and  life  seem'd 
to  hang  in  th'  ballance,  therefore  blame  doth  fall  on  those 
men,  great  and  noble  though  they  be,  who  led  him  to  his 
death. 

This  sheweth  any  who  have  thought  Elizabeth  too 
severe  to  her  cousin  that,  though  she  had  prudence  suffi- 
ciente  to  keepe  her  arch-enemie  in  seclusion,  by  no  meanes 
was  th'  heart  in  that  faire  bosom  so  flintie  as  to  send  th' 
unfortunate  woman  to  her  death  before  her  time. 

The  Duke  of  I^Torfolk,  it  is  quite  true,  lost  his  life 
through  too  much  zeale  to  Mary's  cause,  united,  it  is  said. 


366  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OP  FRANCIS  BACON. 

or  springing  from,  a  rash  desire  to  wed  the  lady,  notwith- 
standing th'  charges  that  were  pref err'd  against  her.  How- 
ever, th'  removall  of  one  duke  was  but  a  smal  mater  com- 
par'd  with  that  of  a  Queene.  A  man's  head  stood  some- 
what tickle  on  th'  shoulders  then,  nor  did  hee  thinke  his 
life  hard  or  cruell  were  such  exit  provided  him. 

But  to  return  to  the  narration, — which  is  a  painfull 
theame  to  me  now  as  in  that  sad  time,  and  furnish'd  me 
th'  subject  matter  of  one  o'  my  Cypher  tragedy s  that  may 
be  found  and  written  by  aide  of  this  argument, — this  war- 
rant of  death  reach'd  Fotheringay  much  sooner  then  it  was 
expected  by  anie  there  attendant  upon  the  wro'gly  accused 
Queene  for  whatever  [her]  fault,  it  is  know'e  that  all  plots 
in  her  favour  against  the  life  of  the  Queene,  my  mother, 
had  their  origine  outside  of  England,  but  being  the  center 
thereof  whether  cognisant  of  them  or  not  she  would,  by 
th'  lawe,  be  attaint  of  treason. 

Furthermore,  being(g)  Catholick,  she  held  th'  divorce 
of  Henry  Eight  from  Queene  Katherine  unlawfull,  in 
verie  truth,  and  unjust;  his  marriage  with  Anne  Bolyne, 
therefore,  could  but  bee  an  unsailctified  union  and  their 
children  bastards.  Granting  th'  premise,  Mary  of  Scots 
should  have  succeeded  Mary  of  England. 

Againe  I  have  somewhat  digress'd,  but  the  theame  is  soe 
heavy  I  cannot  follow  it  without  taking  short  respite  at 
intervalls.  At  the  appointed  time  on  that  sadd  dale,  Mary 
enter'd  the  great  hall  of  her  prison-castle,  which  for  this 
occasion  we  ree-draped  in  blacke,  wearing  a  Ion'  mourning 
cloake  that  cover'd  her  from  head  to  foote;  with  her  were 
her  attendants.  The  executioner,  likewise  in  mourning, 
stood  in  silence  by  the  blocke,  and  dispos'd  in  paires  about 


NATURAL  HISTORY.  367 

the  room,  were  the  English  Lords,  Kent,  Shrewsbury,  Mon- 
tague and  Derby  idlie  conversing* 

The  Queene  looked  pale  from  want  o'  rest  but  was 
calme  and  compos'd.  She  ask'd  for  the  services  of  her 
owne  priest;  it  was  refus'd  with  needlesse  stemnesse.  She 
spake  little  more,  pray'd  in  cleare  tones  for  some  minutes, 
commended  to  God  her  suffering  soule,  to  Phillip  of  Spaine 
th'  quarrell  with  England  and  her  clayme  to  the  throne. 
Then  she  stept  forward  letting  the  cloake  slide  to  the  floor 
and  stoode  up  before  them  in  a  robe  of  brave  bloud-red, 
and  in  that  sweete,  winsome  waye  most  naturall  to  a 
woman  and  to  her  in  highest  degree,  she  bade  her  waiting 
women  farewell,  thanked  Lord  Montague  who  had  spoken 
for  her  when  th'  lords  sat  in  councell  and  bade  him  adieu. 
Afterward  there  came  a  moment  of  hesitation, — onely  a 
minute,  possibly  for  silente  invocation, — then  she  spake 
graciously  to  each  one  in  her  presence  and  was  ledd  to 
the  blocke. 

So  ended  Marie  of  Scots,  but  her  sad  story  is  set  downe 
herein,  and  in  my  heart  her  beautie  still  liveth  as  fresh  as 
if  she  were  yet  amongst  the  living. 

As  hath  beene  said,  this  is  hidden  in  th'  works  in  th' 
form  of  a  tragedie  of  such  interesse  that  I  urge  upon  my 
discyp'rer  th'  oft  repeated  wish  for  a  careful!  rend'ring  of 
my  work.  To  such  an  one  our  worke  is  left  nor  can  I 
beleeve  it  lost.  In  hope,  such  as  doth  inspire  the  hearts 
of  all  those  who  commit  their  labours  to  th'  future,  I  leave 
you  my  name  and  labours. 

-  '■'.''  FRA.  SAINT  ALBAN. 


868  BI-LITERAL  CYPHER  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 


His  lordship's  part  endeth  here  and  I  add  but  a  f  ewe 
lines  to  speake  of  th'  errata.  Some  words  have  [been]  left 
out,  now  and  then  one  repeated — th'  syllables  and  letters 
are  also  thus — do  sometimes  appear,  sometimes  have 
stray 'd  from  sight;  but  I  trust  the  greater  number  of  these 
mistakes  to  your  discretion.  Yet  one  statement  should  be 
changed  for  a  manuscript  line  omitted  hurteth  the  sense. 
On  page  two-hundredth  and  sixty-five,  speaking  of  Her 
Majesty,  reade :  "Shortly  after  the  return  of  her  rivall  to 
her  native  land,  desire  to  go  thither,  et  caetera."  This  no 
(do)  doubt  is  the  chiefe  thing  omitted,  but  I  thinke 
proper  under  the  existing  circumstances,  not  wishin'  (that) 
his  lordship's  much  priz'd  epistle  to  make  a  beggarly  entry, 
to  sett  you  right  in  order  that  we  may  correct  other 
errours. 

Respectfully  your  faithfull  fellowe  worker, 

WILLIAM  RAWLEY. 


APPENDIX. 

IRREGULAR  PAGING  OF  ORIGINAL  EDITIONS. 

Advancement  of  Learning.    Book  I.— Pages  16,  18,  34  occur  twice; 
17,  19,  24  are  missing. 
Book  II. — Pages  6,  33,  79,  93,  94,  103  occur  twice;  70,  99  occur 
three  times;  69,  74  occur  four  times;  73,  105  mis- 
placed; 9  missing. 

Spenser's  Faerie  Queene.    Pages  10,  23  occur  twice;  8,  33  missing. 

Shakespeare  Plays — 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor.    Pages  51,  58  occur  twice;  50,  59 

missing. 
Comedy  of  Errors.    Page  88  occurs  twice;  86  missing. 
Midsummer  Night's  Dream.    Pages  151, 163  occur  twice;  153, 

161  missing. 
Merchant  of  Venice.     Pages  read  163,  162,  163,  166. 
As  You  Like  It.     Page  187  occurs  twice;  189  missing. 
Taming  of  the  Shrew.    Page  212  occurs  twice;  214  missing. 
All  Is  Well.    Pages  251,  252  occur  twice;  249,  250  missing. 
Twelfth  Night.     Page  273  occurs  twice;  265  missing. 
Henry  IV.     Part  I. — Pages  read  46,  49. 

Henry  IV.     Part  II.— Pages  91,  92  occur  twice;  89,  90  miss- 
ing. 
Henry  VI.    Part  III.— Pages  167,  168  occur  twice;   165,  166 

missing. 
Henry  VIII.     Page  218  occurs  twice;  216  missing. 
Troilus  and  Cressida.     Only  two  pages  numbered — 79,  80. 
Romeo  and  Juliet.    Last  two  pages  read  76,  79;  missing,  77, 

78.     In  deciphering  after  76  of  R.  and  J.  use  78  and 

79  of  T.  and  C,  then  79  of  R.  and  J. 
Timon  of  Athens.  Pages  81,  82  occur  twice. 
Hamlet.    Next  after  page  156  is  257.     Page  259  occurs  twice; 

279  missing. 
King  Lear.     Page  308  reads  38. 
Cymbeline.    Page  389  occurs  twice;  379  missing.    Page  390 

reads  993. 


APPENDIX. 

Anatomy  of  Melancholy  (1628)— 

Democritus  to  Reader.  Pages  39,  40  occur  twice. 
Anatomy.  Pages  62,  78,  79,  86,  88,  89,  91,  114,  115,  251,  259, 
583,  584  occur  twice.  Page  359  stands  in  place  of 
360;  Pages  66,  96,  98,  99,  101,  214,  215,  351,  359 
missing. 
De  Augmentis.  Pages  67,  104,  273,  276,  284,  357,  361,  387,  396  occur 
twice;  187,  204,  248,  372,  376,  369,  383,  386,  537 
missing. 

Natural  History.    Page  39  occurs  twice;  35  missing. 

In  deciphering,  the  pages  of  the  same  number  must  be  joined 
for  connected  narrative.  If  a  page  occurs  numbered  ahead  of  its 
order,  omit  until  its  proper  number  is  reached,  and  decipher  in 
advance  of  its  duplicate.  If  a  page  occurs  numbered  later  than  its 
regular  order,  it  must  be  brought  forward  and  follow  its  dupli- 
cates in  the  order  they  occur  in  the  books. 

Some  of  the  irregularities  are  printer's  errors,  but  most  of 
them  are  to  bring  pages  together  that  were  misplaced  to  further 
hide  the  Cipher. 


SPENSER. 


"  Spenser's  '  Shepheardes  Calender'  was  in  its  day  a  book  of 
great  interest,  not  only  because  it  made  tbe  world  acquainted 
with  '  the  new  poet,'  but  also  because  it  contained  allusions  to 
personages  of  distinction  well  known,  and  to  circumstances 
familiar  to  everybody.  From  1579-97,  in  a  space  of  eighteen 
years,  it  passed  through  five  different  editions. 

In  our  days  the  little  book  is  still  interesting,  but  for  other 
reasons.  Firstly,  as  the  earliest  work  of  importance  by  the 
writer  of  'The  Faerie  Queen.'  Secondly,  because,  as  Dean 
Church  in  his  '  Life  of  Spenser '  appropriately  observes,  it 
marks  a  '  turning-point '  in  the  history  of  English  literature ; 
twenty  years  had  passed  since  the  publication  of  Tottel's  Mis- 
cellany, and  the  appearance  of  the  '  Shepheardes  Calender ' 
gave  a  new  impulse  to  English  Poetry.  Thirdly,  from  the 
mysterious  circumstances  connected  with  its  publication." 

The  following  are  some  of  the  "  mysterious  circumstances"  : 
On  December  5th,  1579,  "  The  Shepheardes  Calender "  was 
entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  under  the  name  of  Hugh  Singleton, 
according  to  the  following  transcript : 

Hughe  Singleton  ;  Lycenced  unto  him  the  Shepperdes  Calender  con- 
teyninge  xij  eclogues  proportionable  to  the  xij  monethes — vjd. 

Neither  in  the  entry  nor  on  title  page  is  the  author's  name 
mentioned,  but  on  its  verso  some  dedicatory  verses  are  signed 
"  Immerito." 

This  edition  is  dedicated,  or  "  Entitled  to  the  Noble  and 
Vortuous  Gentlemen,  most  worthy  of  all  titles,  both  of  learning 
and  chevalrie,  M.  Philip  Sidney."  "  Printed  by  Hugh  Singleton, 
dwelling  in  Creede  Lane  neere  unto  Ludgate  at  the  signe  of  the 
gylden  Tunne,  and  are  there  to  be  solde." 

Four  copies  of  this  edition  are  known  to  exist : — 

1.  No.  11,532  of  the  Grenville   collection  of  the  British 

Museum. 

2.  In  the  Bodleian  Library,  Oxford. 

8.  No.  293  Capell,  T.  9,  in  Library  of  Trinity  College, 

Cambridge. 
4.  No.  427  of  the  Huth  Library. 

The  next  four  editions  are  published  bv  John  Harrison  the 
younger,  to  whom  Hugh  Singleton  assigned  the  book  as  follows  : 

T  ,     ,        .  .  29  October  [1581] 

Jonn  harrison :  Assigned  over  from  hugh  Singleton  to  have  the  shep- 
pardes  callender,  which  was  hughe  Singleton's  copie.— vjd. 


The  second  edition  was  "  Imprinted  at  London  by  Thomas 
East  for  John  Harrison  the  younger,  dwelling  Pater  noster  Roe, 
at  the  signe  of  the  Anker,  and  are  there  to  bee  solde.  1581." 
This  second  edition  is  olso  dedicated  to  Philip  Sidney.  It  is 
rare,  but  found  in  the  Grenville  Collection,  in  the  Bodleian, 
Trinity  College,  and  Huth  Libraries. 

The  third  edition  was  "  Imprinted  at  London  by  John 
Wolfe  for  John  Harrison  the  yonger,  dwelling  in  Pater  noster 
Roe,  at  the  signe  of  the  Anker.     1586." 

The  fourth  edition  was  "  Printed  by  John  Windet  for  John 
Harrison  the  yonger,  dwelling  Pater  noster  Roe,  etc.     1591." 

The  fifth  edition  was  "  Printed  by  Thomas  Creede  for  John 
Harrison  the  yonger,  dwelling  Pater  noster  Roe,  at  the  signe  of 
the  Anchor,  etc.     1597." 

In  1611,  together  with  some  other  poems,  the  Shepheardes 
Calender  appeared  for  the  first  time  with  the  poet's  name 
attached  to  it ;  this  volume  has  the  title  :  The  Faerie  Queen  : 
The  Shepheards  Calendar ;  Together  with  the  other  works  of 
England's  Arch-Poet,  Edm.  Spenser.  ^  Collected  into  one 
Volume  and  carefully  corrected.  ,  Printed  by  H.  L.  for  Mathew 
Lownes.  Anno  Dom.  1611,  fol.  This  volume  is  dedicated  to 
Queen  Elizabeth  thus  :  To  the  Most  High,  Mightie,  and  Mag- 
nificent Emperesse,  Renouned  for  Pietie,  Vertue,  and  all  Gracious 
Government :  Elizabeth,  By  the  Grace  of  God,  Queene  of  Eng- 
land, France,  and  Ireland,  and  of  Virginia  :  Defender  of  the 
Faith,  &c.  Her  most  humble  Servaunt,  Edmund  Spenser,  doth 
in  all  humilitie  dedicate,  present,  and  consecrate  these  his  labours, 
to  live  with  the  eternitie  of  her  Fame. 

Spenser  returned  to  England  (1598)  a  ruined,  heart-broken 
man,  and  died  in  the  January  following,  hvelve  years  before  the 
book  was  attributed  to  his  authorship,  and  the  above  dedication  to 
Queen    Elizabeth. 

By  what  authority  is  this  book  claimed  for  Spenser. 

The  following  lines  are  from  the  dedicatory  verses  of  the 
fi^st  edition. 

Goe  little  booke:    thy  self e  present, 
As  child  whose  parent  is  unkent: 

But  if  that  any  aske  thy  name, 
Say  thou  wert  base  begot  tvith  blame: 
For  thy  thereof  thou  takest  shame. 
And  when  thou  art  past  jeopardee, 
4  Come  tell  me,  what  was  sayd  of  mee: 

And  I  will  send  more  after  thee. 

Immerito. 


SIR  FRANCIS  BACON'S 


CIPHER  STORY 


DISCOVERED  AND  DECIPHERED  BY 

ORVILLE  W.  OWEN,  M.  D. 


{WORD  CIPHER.) 


Sir  Stands  Bacon's  (£tpl]er  5tory» 


The  series  of  deciphered  writings  from  the  Shakespearean 
Plays,  the  stage  plays  of  Mariow,  the  works  of  Peele,  Green, 
Spenser  and  Burton,  has  reached  the  sixth  book,  and  others  in 
process  of  translation.  The  character  and  scope  of  tlie  mat- 
ter so  far  deciphered,  will  be  indicated  by  the  following 

"SYNOPSIS. 


BOOK  I. 

Francis  Bacon's  Letter  to  the  Decipherer.  1 

Embracing  the  plan  of  the  work,  explanation  of  methods, 
and  reasons  for  writing  the  narrative  in  Cipher. 

Epistle  Dedicatory.  45 

To  him  who  shall  find  the  Cipher. 

Description  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  56 

TJie  Curse.  ^  61-67 

Upon  those  who  have  caused  his  humiliation. 

Francis  Bacon's  Life.  97 

Discovery  that  he  was  son  of  Elizabeth.     Confirmation  by 
his  foster  mother.  Lady  Ann  Bacon. 

Description  of  the  Reign  of  Elizabeth.  154 

The  Queen's  Last  Days.  170 

Strangled  by  Robert  Cecil.  184 

Lady  Ann  Bacon  recounts  to  Francis  190 

The  early  life  of  Elizabeth  and  the  end  of  the  reign  of  Mary. 

BOOK  II. 

Continues  200 
The  account  of  Elizabeth ;  the  wooing  of  Leicester  in  the  202 
Tower ;  bribes  the  Holy  Friar  to  take  him  to  Eliza- 
beth ;  frightens  him  into  performing  the  marriage  eer-  224 
emony;  plotting  the  death  of  Leicester's  wife,  Ayme  226 
Eobsart;  Ayme  Robsart  visits  the  Queen;  stormy  235 
interview ;  death  of  Ayme  Robsart.  248 


Second  Marriage  of  Elizabeth  and  Leicester. 

By  Sir  Nicholas  Bacon,  in  the  presence  of  Lady  Ann  Bacon 

and  Lord  Puckering.    Account  interrupted  by  a  sum-      250 
mons  from  the  Queen.  282 

Elizabeth  and  Francis.     Banished  to  France.  256 

The  Spanish  Armada.  263 

Prologue.  Phillip  II  demands,  through  ambassadors,  the 
hand  of  Elizabeth  in  marriage.  The  alternative  of 
refusal,  the  wresting  of  the  Crown  from  her  "  unlawful 
hands  "  by  war.  Elizabeth's  reply  to  the  ambassadors. 
Pedigree  of  the  Queen.  Appearance  of  the  Spanish 
Fleet. 

The  Great  Storm.  377 

Bacon's  description.    Bacon  rescues  Don  Pedro,  the  Span- 


ish Commander. 


BOOK  III. 


The  Spanish  Armada  Continued.  401 

Bacon  visits  the  Queen  and  pleads  for  his  prisoner  Don  Pedro  459 

whom  he  rescued  from  drowning.    Entrance  of  Lord  489 

High  Admiral,  -Capt.  Palmer  and  Sir  Anthony  Cook.  492 

Don  Pedro  before  the  Queen.    Plea  for  mercy.  493 

"The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strain'd."  494 

The  Queen  "  aweary  of  his  speech,"  wishes  to  hear  the 

Admiral's  report  of  the  battle,  which  is  described.  495 

Capt.  Drake  tells  of  the  second  day's  battle.  Allegor-  498 
ical  description  giving  the  names  of  Spanish  and  Eng-  ^  499 
lish  vessels  engaged.    Admiral  Howard  recounts  his   '  512 

Sart  in  the  fight.     Capt.  Drake  describes  the  storm.  526 

apt.  Palmer's  experiences  in  the  Gerftian  Seas.  530 

Don  Martin,  a  prisoner  before  the  Queen.  552 

Bacon  again  begs  for  Don  Pedro.  668 

Enter  sailors  with  letters.  566 

"  The  end  has  come." 
So  by  a  roaring  tempest  on  the  flood, 
A  whole  ArmsSo  of  convicted  sail 
Is  scatter'd  and  disjoin'd  from  fellowship. 

Epilogue.  sffi 

Francis  Bacon'' s  Life  at  the  Court  of  France  571 

BOOK  IV. 

Massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew.  eos 

Mary  Queen  of  Scots.  631 

Francis  Bacon  recurs  to  his  own  life.  660 

Hamlet.  652 
Discovery  by  the  Queen  that  Bacon  wrote  it,  and  the  fate 
of  the  first  copy. 

Tragedy  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots.  672 


Queen  E  UzahetW s  Dream.  762 

Her  indignation  and  horror  at  the  death  of  Mary. 

"  Queen.  Who  hath  made  bold  with  the  great  seal ,  and  who 
Hath  inscribed  my  name?  764 

Leicester.  Your  servant,  th'  secretary, 
Brought  the  warrant  to  us,  the  great  seal  stamp'd  upon't. 

Q.  Then  there  was  a  league  between  you  to  hasten  lier 
Untimely  death." 

Foreign  Ambassadors  Presented.  765 

The  Queen  explains  to  them  that  her  savage  council  have 
cruelly  slain  Mary,  and  declares  her  intention  to  hang 
her  secretary  for  insubordination, 

Bacon  Resumes  his  '■'■Life  in  France.''''  767 

Interview  between  Bacon  and  Navarre.  771 

Prayer  of  Navarre.  782 

Intrigues  to  effect  his  escape  from  France.  786 

BOOK  V. 

Continues  Bacoivs  '■'■Life  in  France.''^  801 

Bacon  discloses  to  Navarre  that  he  is  heir  to  the  throne  of 
England,  lawful  son  of  Elizabeth  and  Leicester. 
Tells  of  his  banishment  and  espouses  Navarre's  cause. 

Navarre'' s  Attempt  to  Escape  Frustrated.  834 

The  grand  hunt ;  Navarre's  flight. 

Bacon^s  Visit  to  the  Huguenot  CaTnp.  871 

Report  of  same  to  Henry  III.  and  to  Margaret  of  Navarre. 
Plan  of  the  latter  to  escape  to  the  camp. 

Bacon  Discloses  his  Love  to  Margaret.  926 

Ladder  of  cords.  Disappointment.  Interview  with  Friar. 
Farewell  to  Margaret. 

BOOK  VI 

(in  preparation.) 

Conclusion  of  Bacon's  '■'■Life  at  the  Court  of  France.''''         looi 
Anjou's  desertion  of  the  Huguenots ;  his  trifling  successes 
magnified  ;  the  triumphs  or  fetes  in  his  honor. 
Catherine's  revival  of  "  The  Court  of  Love." 

Bacon  Returns  to  England. 

Stormy  interview  with  Queen  Elizabeth  and  Leicester. 
Paulet  attempts  to  negotiate  a  marriage  between  Bacon 
and  Margaret.     Second  banishment.     Visit  to  Italy. 

Bacon  follows  the  Queen-mother  to  the  South. 

PuUic  Trial  of  Queen  Margaret. 

The  Assassination  of  the  Duke  of  Guise  and  the  Cardinal 
of  Lorraine. 

Henry  Til.  and  Navarre  join  forces  to  hesiege  Paris. 

Navarre  declared  Heir  to  the  Throne  of  France. 

Assassination  of  the  King. 

Death  of  Nicholas  Bacon;  Francis  Recalled  to  England. 


Synopsis  of  "The  Historical  Tragedy  of  flary  Queen  of  Scots.'* 

Act  I.— Scene  /.—Interview  between  Queen  Elizabeth  and  Counsellor  Francis  Bacon.  The  Law  of 
Treason.  *  *  *  Queen  Elizabeth  commands  the  presence  of  Leicester,  who  arranges 
to  bring  Mary  to  his  house  in  London  for  an  interview. 
Scene  2 — Banquet  room  at  house  of  Leicester.  Leicester  aud  Mary  at  banquet  table.  Queen 
Elizabeth  .secretly  enters;  hides  behind  statue.  Mary  proposes  marriage  to  Leicester, 
they  to  be  rulers  of  the  French,  English  and  Scottish  realms.     Elizabeth  steps  forth, 

"  Dotli  Scotland  make  your  Majesty  our  judge?" 
Mary  in  surprised  alarm, 

"Alas,  I  am  undone!     It  is  the  Queen." 
Interview  between  Elizabeth  and  Mary;  withdrawal  of  Elizabeth  and  Leicester. 
ACT  II. — Scene  /.—In  front  of  Tower;  time,   midnight.     Stormy  interview  between  Queen  Elizabeth 
aud  Leicester;  the  jealous  Queen  declares  his  banishment;  thrusts  him  away  and  enters. 
Leicester  in  rage : 

"/'//  empty  all  these  veins,  and  shed  my  blood 
Drop  by  drop  i'  th'  earth  ere  I  will  go  ! 
Let  my  soul  want  mercy  if  I  do  not  join 
IVilh  Scotland,  in  her  behalf.' 
Enter  Francis  Bacon,  who  counsels  a  different  course.    Leicester  requests  Bacon  to 
plead  for  him  to  the  Queen. 
Scene  2  — Audience  rcx)m  of  Palace.     Bacon  pleads  for  Leicester;  calls  upon  himself  the  wrath 
of  the  Queen;  takes  leave. 

"  No  power  I  have  to  speak,  I  know. 
And  so,  farewell,   I,  and  my  griefs  will  go." 
Enter  Leicester;  begs  that  he  be  not  banished;  Queen  repents. 
"  Restrain  thy  apprehension;  I  will  lay  trust  upon  thee. 
And  thou  shall  find  f  will  preserve  and  love  thee. 

I  have  conj'erred  on  thee  the  commandment  of  mine  army  beyond  the  sea." 
Act  III.  —Scene  /.—Council  Chamber  of   Palace.      Lords  seated  at  table  :   Queen  on  the  throne ; 
Elizabeth  announces   that    Leicester  is  to  command  her  armies  in  Ireland.    Strongly 
opposed  by  the  Lord  Chancellor;  Leicester  accused  of  treason.    The  Queen  overrules  the 
council;  makes  him  General  and  administers  the  oath. 
Scene  2.— Council  Chamber— twelve  months  later.    Queen  Elizabeth  presents  the  treasons  of 
Mary  Queen  of  Scots;  gives  letter  of  commission  for  her  trial. 
AcTlV.— 5c<rw« /.— Room  in  Fotheringay  Castle;  lords,  knights,  captains,  lawyers  and  gentlemen  in 
attendance.      Queen   Mary   before  the  Court;   notes  the  absence   of  the  English   Queen; 
demands  her  presence— Will  be  tried  by  her  peers,  and  not  by  servants  of  lesser  degree; 
Council  show  warrant.     Mary  denies  the  charges;  so  impresses  and  moves  the  Court  that 
Chief  Justice  suddenly  adjourns  the  Court  to  London,  fearing  that  by  her  eloquence  and 
beauty  she  be  acquitted 
Scene  ^.— Room  in  Tower  of  London;    Court  convenes  to  convict  Mary;   Montagfue  speaks 
strongly  for  her;  members  cry  Guilty!  guilty!_ 
■^CT  V. — Scene  i. — Palace  of  the  Queen,  Elizabeth  and  train. 

"Q.  E.     Fie,  what  a  slug  is  Warwick,  he  comes  not 
To  tell  us  whether  they  will  that  she  shall  die  or  no. 
Ah!    In  good  time  here  comes  the  sweating  lord."     (Enter  Warwick.") 
He  announces  the  decision  of  '•  guilty."     Enter  Lords  of  Council;  they  present  Elizabeth 
the  warrant  for  Mary's  death      She  does  not  si^n  it. 

"Q.  E.    Mv  lord,  I protnise  to  note  it  cunningly; 

But  here  come  the  ambassadors  of  our  brothers  of  France  and  Spain." 
Enter  amba.ssadors,  who  plead  for  the  life  of  Mary. 
Scene 2.— Siredi,  in  London.     Enter  Burleigh  and  Secretary  of  the  Queen  (Davison);  met  by 

Leicester.     All  enter  a  public  house. 
Scene 3.— 'Priwa.\.&  room;  Burleigh  and  Leicester  force  the  Secretary  to  forge  the  Queen's  name 

to  the  warrant  for  Mary's  execution. 
Scene  .^.—Chamber  in  Fotheringay  Castle— Queen  Mary  and  maids.    Enter  English  Lords. 
"Q.  M.     Welcome,  mv  lords.-  Why  do  you  come.    IsH  for  my  life? 
Lord  Shrewsbury.    '  Tis  now  midnight,  and  by  eight  tomorrow  thou  must  be  made 

immortal. 
Q.  M.    How!    My  lord!     Tomorrow?  tomorrow!    Oh!  that's  sudden. 
Oh!  this  subdues  me  quite. 

*  *  *  * 

Good,  good  my  lord,  if  I  must  die  tomorrow. 
Let  me  have  some  reverend  person 

To  advise,  comfort  and  pray  with  me."     (This  is  refused.) 
Scene  s.—VL^X  of  Fotheringay  Castle,  hung  with  black.    Platform  and  block  at  end.    English 
Lords  and  Gentlemen,  executioner,  and  assistants. 

Enter  Queen  Mary  dressed  in  black  and  red  velvet  gown.     The  executioner  assures  her 
"I  will  be  as  speedy  in  your  death  as  all  the  poisonous  potions  in  the  world. 
And  you  shall  feel  no  pain." 
Mary  addresses  the  Lords,  denies  the  charges,  asserting  that  they  shed  innocent  blood. 
'"And  if  you  tell  the  heavy  story  right. 
Upon  my  soul  the  hearers  7vill  shed  tears. 
Yea,  even  my  foes  7vill  shed  fast  falling  tears. 
And  say  it  was  a  piteous  deed  to  take  me  from 
The  world,  and  send  my  soul  to  heaven." 

«  *  *  « 

(She  kneels  and  prays) : 
"  Oh  God,  have  mercy  upon  me.  and  receive  my  fainting  soul  again  !  Oh  be  thou  merciful ! 
And  let  our  princely  sister  be  satisfied  with  our  true  blood  which,  as  Thou  know'st,  unjustly 
must  be  spilled  !  Oh  God,  send  to  me  the  7vater  from  the  well  of  life,  and  by  my  death  stop 
effusion  of  Christian  blood  and  '  stablish  quietness  on  every  side!  Let  me  be  blessed  for  the 
iieace  I  make.    Amen."  (Rises.) 

"  Farewell,  sweet  Lords;  let's  meet  in  heaven. 
Good  mv  Lord  of  Derby,  lead  me  to  the  block." 

(Speaks  to  Executionei.) 
Finis 


PUBLISHERS  NOTE. 


The  present  volume,  "The  Tragical  History  of  Our  Late 
Brother,  Earl  of  Essex,"  is  published  separately,  out  of  its 
consecutive  order,  being  complete  in  itself,  and  of  the  most 
thrilling  interest  and  historical  value,  that  it  may  be  the 
earlier  enjoyed  as  one  of  the  marvels  of  literature,  in  advance 
of  its  appearance  as  a  part  of  the  later  books  of  the  series  of 
Sir  Francis  Bacon's  Cipher  Writings. 

Like  its  immediate  predecessor,  "  The  Tragedy  of  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots,"  it  has  been  deciphered  from  the  Shakespeare 
Plays,  and  other  works  of  Bacon,  by  means  of  the  Cipher 
system,  discovered  by  Doctor  Owen,  through  which  the  hidden 
histories  are  being  brought  to  light. 

In  the  first  book  of  the  "  Cipher  Story,"  issued  in  October, 
1893,  was  the  astounding  statement  that  the  great  Chancillor 
was  the  son  of  Queen  Elizabeth  and  Robert  Dudley,  Earl  of 
Leicester;  and  that  Robert,  Earl  of  Essex,  was  his  brother. 
Corroboration  of  this  is  found  in  the  recently  published  British 
"Dictionary  of  National  Biography,"  Vol.  16,  page  114,  under 
the  heading  "  Dudley  : — 

"  Whatever  were  the  Queen's  relations  with  Dudley  before  his  wife's 
death,  they  became  closer  after.  It  was  reported  that  she  was  formally 
betrothed  to  him,  and  that  she  had  secretly  married  him  in  Lord  Pem- 
broke's house,  and  that  she  was  a  mother  already." — January,  1560-1. 

"In  1562  the  reports  that  Elizabeth  had  children  by  Dudley  were 
revived.  One  Robert  Brooks,  of  Devizes,  was  sent  to  prison  for  publish- 
ing the  slander,  and  seven  years  later  a  man  named  Marsham,  of 
Norwich,  was  punished  for  the  same  offence." 

This  Tragedy  confirms   the  statement. 

The    Comedy  referred  to   in  the   Prologue    is   now  being 

translated. 

"The  players  that  come  forth,  will  to  the  life  present 
The  pliant  men  that  we  as  masks  employ: 
An  excellent  device  to  tell  the  plot. 
And  all  our  cipher  practice  to  display." 

HOWARD  PUBLISHING  CO. 
March,  1895. 


INTRODUCTION. 

The  work  of  deciphering  the  literature,  in  which  the  Cipher 
of  Sir  Francis  Bacon  is  found,  reveals  details  of  English  history 
of  wonderful  interest,  which  only  a  participant  in  the  events 
could  record.  Inwrought  into  this  literature  was  hidden  the 
"  Tragedy  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,"  embracing  Mary's  attempts 
to  gain  the  English  crown,  her  trial,  and  her  tragic  end,  written 
as  a  Play.  This  was  published  in  December,  1894,  and  has  been 
pronounced  a  masterpiece.  Portions  of  it  were  found  in  every 
play  attributed  to  Shakespeare,  and  in  the  writings  of  Spenser, 
Peele,  Greene,  Marlow,  Burton,  and  Francis  Bacon.  Although 
a  remarkable  production,  it  is  believed  to  be  the  first  of  Bacon's 
writings  of  historical  drama  in  Cipher,  and  it  is  chiefly  drawn 
from  the  earlier  works  and  plays,  before  they  were  re-written  and 
enlarged  in  1608-17-23,  incorporating  later  histories,  and  mat- 
ters of  profound  philosophical  significance. 

This  "  Tragedy  of  Essex,"  obtained  from  the  same  sources, 
is  a  later  production,  and  bears  the  impress  of  greater  skill,  more 
experience,  and  far  more  intense  personal  feeling.  In  it  are 
interwoven  most  important  passages  of  Bacon's  own  life.  It 
explains  Bacon's  participation  in  the  trial  and  conviction  of 
Essex,  who  had  been  his  benefactor,  and  the  seeming  ingratitude 
which  has  so  long  been  thought  a  blot  upon  the  fame  of  the 
Lord  High  Chancillor.  It  was  a  life  for  a  life !  Essex  was 
foredoomed  to  death.  The  Queen  sought  excuse  in  law  for  the 
deed  ;  her  commands  were  imperative  : — 

Queen.  *       *       Robert  Essex  was 
A  worthy  officer  i'  th'  wars,  but  insolent. 
O'er-come  with  pride,  ambitious  past  all  thinking, 
Self-loving,  and  affecting  one  sole  throne. 
Without  assistance. 


Francis  Bacon.  O,  I  think  not  so.        *        * 

Q.  Villain  !  I'll  set  a  point  against  thy  breast. 
If  thou  dost  not  use  most  dear  employment 
In  what  I  further  shall  intend  to  do, 
By  heaven,  I  will  tear  thee  joint  by  joint, 
And  strew  a  hungry  churchyai-d  with  thy  limbs : 
The  time  and  my  intents  are  savage  wild, 
More  fierce  and  more  inexorable  far. 
Than  empty  tigers,  or  the  roaring  sea. 
Put  not  another  sin  upon  my  head, 
By  urging  me  to  fury.     O,  begone  !        *        * 

F.  B.  To  revenge  is  no  valor,  but  to  bear.        *        * 
To  be  in  anger,  is  impiety. 

Q.  But  who  is  born  that  is  not  angry? 
Weigh  but  the  crime  with  this. 

Blood  hath  bought  blood,  and  blows  have  answer'd  blows  ; 
Strength  match'd  with  strength,  and  power  confronted  power 
Both  are  alike,  and  both  alike  we  like : 
One  must  prove  greatest. 

F.  B.  Believe  this.  Madam, 
No  ceremony  that  to  great  ones  'longs, 
Not  the  King's  crown,  nor  the  deputed  sword, 
The  marshal's  truncheon,  nor  the  judge's  robe, 
Becomes  them  with  one  half  so  good  a  gi-ace 
As  mercy  does.        *       * 

Q.  I  was  not  born  to  die  on  Essex'  sword ! 
*        *        In  the  name  o'  th'  people. 
And  in  the  power  of  us  their  Queen,  we 
Will  push  destruction  and  perpetual  shame 
Out  of  the  weak  door  of  our  fainting  land. 
See,  here  in  bloody  lines  we  have  set  down 
And  what  is  written  shall  be  executed  ; 
Your  brother  is  to  die,  as  his  offences 
Are  accounted  to  the  law. 

F.  B.  O  your  Grace, 
Are  not  you  then  as  cruel  as  the  sentence? 
I  know  no  law.  Madam,  that  answering 
One  foul  wrong,  lives  but  to  act  another. 

Q.  Be  satisfied ; 
Your  treacherous  brother  dies ;  be  content. 

F.  B.  Oh,  it  is  excellent,  your  Majesty, 
To  have  a  giant's  strength :   but  it  is  tyrannous 
To  use  it  like  a  giant. 

Q.  Peace,  peace  sir,  peace. 
Were  I  not  the  better  part  made  of  mercy, 
I  should  not  seek  an  absent  argument 
Of  my  revenge,  thou  present,  thou  traitor. 
*         *  Look  to  it,  thou  villain, 

Thy  life's  dependent  on  thy  brother's  death. 
Let  our  instruction  to  thee  be  thy  guide, 
Under  penalty  of  thine  own  false  head. 

F.  B.  I  do  partly  understand  your  meaning. 

Q.  Why  then,  go  get  thee  home,  thou  fragment  vile 
Peruse  this  writing  here,  and  thou  shalt  know 
Tis  death  for  death,  a  brother  for  a  brother: 
Haste  still  pays  haste,  and  leisure  answers  leisure; 
Like  doth  quit  like,  and  measure  still  for  measure. 


Synopsis  of  "The  Tragical  HIstorie  of  the  Earl  of  Essex." 

PROLOGUE. 

Act  I. — Scene  i. — Horns  and  trumpets  sound.    Enter  Queen  Elizabeth  with  hounds  and  dogs,  returning 
from   hunt       Queen  and   Huntsman.      Enter  Earl  of  Essex  and  Francis    Bacon. 
Queen  dismisses  attendants.     Essex  announces  insurrection  in  Ireland. 
Scene  2— Pa'ace.   ^tormy  discussion  over  assignment  of  commander  of  forces  for  Ireland. 
Queen  to  Essex  :     "  Take  thou  that."    (Boxes  his  ears.) 
Essex  assays  to  draw  his  sword  ;  defies  her  and  leaves  in  a  rage. 
Queen  relents,  and  sends  the  Admiral  and  Cecil  to  call  him  back 
Scetie  J.— Cecil,  Solus.     Enter  Essex ;  the  quarrel  and  blow. 
Scene  4. — Queen  and  Cecil.    Prayer  of  the  Queen  : 

"  /  that  never  -veep,  now  melt  with  woe. 
That  my  ungracious  son  doth  hate  me  so." 
Scene  s.—hsidy  Essex' warns  the  Earl  against  Cecil.  Bacon  and  Essex.    Rival  claims  to  the  Crown. 
ACT  u.— Scene  i. — Elizabetli  and  Lords.    Queen  announces  that  Essex  will  go  to  Ireland. 
Dismisses  all  but  Essex,  to  whom  she  promises, 

"     *      *      *      *     The  next  degree  shall  be 
England' s  royal  throne, /or  King  0/  England 
Shall  you  be  proclaimed  in  every  borough." 
•        Scene  2.— Essex  ;  outlines  his  puposes  in  Ireland. 
Scene  j. — Essex  and  Bacon  ;  farewell. 
Act  hi— Scene  /. — Cecil  tells  the  Queen  that  Essex  is  returning  with  an  army. 

Scene  2.— Elizabeth  walks  in  her  sleep.     Her  horrible  dream.    Queen  and  ladies  in  prayer. 
Scenes.— Bed  chamber  of  Queen  ;  noisy  arrival  of  Essex.    The  Queen  bids  that  he  be  admitted. 
"  Bless  thee,  my  blessed  boy, 
♦  *  * 

Then,  sir,  •withdraw,  and  in  an  hour  return^ 
Indies  in  waiting  dress  the  Queen  in  handsome  robes.    Essex  returns  ;  Queen  embraces  him. 
He  discourses  of  Ireland  and  claims  the   Dukedom  of  York.    {Exit.)    Enter  Cecil,  who 
frightens  the  Queen  with  false  reasons  for  Essex's  sudden  return. 
Scene 4.— X^aiCon.  tells  Essex  of  Cecil's  intrigues,  and  bids  him  fly  to  France.     Enter  Queen; 
Shows  displeasure  at  Essex's  return,  and  bids  him  go  to  his  home. 
Act  IV. — Scene  /.—Council  Chamber.    Queen  informs  Essexhe  must  appear  before  the  Council. 

*  *  *  But  if,  sir. 

You  be  put  in  bondage,  appeal  to  us. 
And  deliver  us  this  ring.        *        *         " 
Essex  before  the  Council.     Insults  Cecil. 
Scene  2. — Essex  commanded  to  close  confinement  in  his  house. 
^Vr^w^  J.— Quarrels  with  his^  brother  Francis  Bacon. 

Scene  4. — Queen  and  Bacon.     Bacon  pleads  for  Essex.     Interrupted  by  news  of  Essex's  revolt. 
Scene  5.—Qa.\.e:  of  Essex's  House.     Lords  demand  his  surrender;  Essex's  soldiers  surround  and 

take  them  away. 
Scene  6.— Street  in  London.     Essex  endeavors  to  incite  the  mob  to  burn  and  plunder. 
Scene  7. —Vrowt  of  Essex's  House — Essex  on  walls.    Alarms  and  clash  of  arms.    Summoned  to 

parley  ;  descends ;  is  arrested  and  conveyed  to  the  Tower. 
Scene  .R— Palace. 

Queen.    "  Where  is  the  Earl  ?  " 
Cecil.     ^''In  the  Tower,  Your  Grace." 
Act  v.— Scene  /.—Order  for  the  trial  of  Essex. 

Scene  2.- Queen  and  Francis  Bacon  ;  plea  for  pardon  of  Essex. 

Queen.     '^  Your  treacherous  brother  dies/        *  * 

****** 

Thy  lifers  dependent  on  thy  brother's  death. 
Let  our  instruction  to  thee  be  thy  guide. 
Under  the  penalty  0/  thine  oiun/alse  head. 

■K  *  if  n  *  -K 

Peruse  this  -writing  here,  and  thou  shall  know 
'  Tis  death /or  death,  a  brother  /or  a  brother:  * 

Haste  still  pays  hatte,  and  leisure  ans-wers  leisure: 
Like  doth  quit  like,  and  measure  still  /or  measure.'" 
Scenes. — Star  Chamber.    Trial  of  Essex.     He  denounces  Cecil.    Essex  condemned  to  execution. 
Scene 4.SXxcK.\s,  of  Loudon.     Essex  under  guard;  axe,  edge  toward  him  ;  led  to  dungeon. 
Scene  s.—Gai-cd^-a.  of  Palace.     Lady  Essex  and  child  before  the  Queen  ;  pleads  for  Essex's  life. 
Francis  Bacon  supports  her  ancl  supplicates  the  Queen,  without  result. 
Queen,        *  *         '' T II  see  that  he 

Be  executed  by  nine  to-morrow  morning." 
Scene  6.— Dungeon. 

Essex.     ^^  No  bending  knee  ■will  call  me  Ceesar  noTv"     (Enter  Bacon.) 
O  thou  damned  cur: 

Whom,  to  call  brother  ■would  in/ect  my  mouth. 
Get  thee  gone,  thou  most  ■wicked  sir! 
***** 

Bacon.     '^Is  it  my  /ault  that  I  was /orced  to  plead  f 
Haiv  much  thou  wrongst  me.  Heaven  be  my  judge  " 
Essex  upbraids  him  with  sharpest  scorn.     Enter  Lord  Keeper  ;  commands  Bacon  to  depart : 
gives  commission  to  jailor.    Jailors  bind  Essex  in  a  chair  ;  show  him  the  order. 
^^ Must  you  with  hot  irons  burn  out  both  tny  eyes  ? 
****** 

Cut  out  »ty  tongue  so  that  I  may  still  keep 

Both  mine  eyes."    (Jailor  tears  out  one  eye,  then  the  other.) 

'  'A  II  dark  and  com/or tless! 

God  enkindle  all  the  sparks  0/ nature 

To  quit  this  horrid  act  .'" 

Jailor,    "Away  with  himi  l*ad him  to  the  block  .'" 


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